Policing Practices and Vulnerable People 3030628698, 9783030628697

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POLICING PRACTICES AND VULNERABLE PEOPLE

Nicole L. Asquith Isabelle Bartkowiak-Théron

Policing Practices and Vulnerable People “Today’s debates over reimagining policing highlight the harms that police cause. Yet for vulnerable people, police are often the only source of honest advice, service, and protection. This excellent book explains why policing vulnerabilities is important, and shows how the work can be done more fairly and effectively” —Professor Gary Cordner, Professor Emeritus and Academic Director, Baltimore Police Department, USA “Building on their previous work, in their new contribution Asquith and Bartkowiak-­ Théron provide new assessments of policing and vulnerability. Introducing new themes, new perspectives, and updated legislation and policy, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People is an essential resource for scholars and practitioners alike. Demonstrating the importance of vulnerability informing police practice, an important characteristic of this book is the inclusion of practitioners’ vignettes from the field, illustrating the issues in practice. In a world of siloed practice, Asquith and Bartkowiak-Théron advocate for collaboration in the broader field of law-enforcement and public health and invited those on the frontline to contribute their points of view. This is a timely contribution, and a comprehensive resource for all those interested in the topic of vulnerability in policing” —Professor Jenny Fleming, Head of Department, Sociology, Social Policy and Criminology, University of Southampton, UK “It is immediately clear that the authors have formed a trusted bond with those in policing over their many years of academic research, and this book oozes that close relationship throughout. The authors ability to garner an ‘as-is’ perspective from those who carry out this work and combine it with emerging academic research, sited in the evolution of this field of study, makes for a compelling read. This book is an authoritative and practical guide for those charged with this precarious area of policing around the world. The book has a logical flow, with fourteen chapters divided into three sections, it explores with great professionalism the world of policing vulnerability; providing rationale and multiple perspectives throughout. I particularly enjoyed the appropriate and timely use of case studies to bring the subject areas to stark reality and provide powerful down-to-earth examples of the criticality in getting these important disciplines in policing right. Having spent a lifetime

in policing I have nothing but admiration for this comprehensive narrative of what is almost certainly the number one priority for the majority of police agencies throughout the world. My only regret is that this was not available during my operational police service to guide and inform me!” —Dr Ian Hesketh, Senior Responsible Owner for the UK National Police Wellbeing Service and the Wellbeing Lead at the UK College of Policing, UK

Nicole L. Asquith Isabelle Bartkowiak-Théron

Policing Practices and Vulnerable People

Nicole L. Asquith Tasmanian Institute of Law Enforcement Studies University of Tasmania Hobart, Tasmania, Australia

Isabelle Bartkowiak-Théron Tasmanian Institute of Law Enforcement Studies University of Tasmania Hobart, Tasmania, Australia

ISBN 978-3-030-62869-7    ISBN 978-3-030-62870-3 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: teh_z1b This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

…whether we’re prince or pauper. We’re equally vulnerable and I think what it really highlights is our collective vulnerability… Dr Michael Ryan Executive Director, WHO Health Emergencies Programme 7 July 2020

Acknowledgements

We would like to acknowledge the support and guidance provided to us by colleagues and police practitioners over the last 20 years, including the police recruits who have tested our perspectives and approaches to vulnerability in policing. We each engage in this work through our positions at the University of Tasmania (and previously for Nicole, Western Sydney University, and Charles Sturt University for Isabelle), and recognise the privilege that comes with undertaking this work in the academe. Undertaking a task such as writing a book, especially during the COVID-19 lockdowns in Australia, requires the support of our family and friends, and we are grateful for their patience, as well as the dietary and emotional sustenance they have provided over the last six months. We would also like to acknowledge the patience and keen eye of our copyeditor and research assistant, Dr Jess Rodgers, and the guidance and support provided by Liam Inscoe-Jones and Josie Taylor at Palgrave. Thanks, Liam, for your patience. We are also indebted to the 13 practitioners, academics, and pracademics, who have contributed a View from the Frontline vignette. James, Donna, Faith, Melissa, Dan, Katy, Geoff, Scott, Dale, Jenny, Emma, Robyn, and Rob, your applied experience in policing vulnerability has provided our readers with important perspectives on this work. Finally, we would like to acknowledge the critical contributions to writing provided by The Granny’s Square, Bombed Yarns, iKNIT7 and Salamanca Wool Shop (and all the others); without the respite of crocheting and knitting, this book would not be possible.

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Contents

Part I Framing Vulnerability 1 Vulnerability and Policing Practices...................................................... 3 2 Conceptual Understandings of Vulnerability.........................................  17 3 Politics, Policies, and Practices of Vulnerable People Policing.............  35 4 Public Health Models of Vulnerability.................................................. 51

Part II Vulnerability in Practice 5 Community Engagement....................................................................... 69 6 Working with Vulnerable Offenders...................................................... 85 7 Interviewing Vulnerable People............................................................107 8 Police Liaison........................................................................................129

Part III Critical Vulnerability Issues 9 Southernising Vulnerability...................................................................149 10 Police Vulnerability................................................................................165 11 Targeted Violence...................................................................................183 12 Public Order Policing.............................................................................203 13 Coda on COVID-19: Reframing Vulnerability: Policing Pandemics, Protests, and Disasters..........................................................................221 Bibliography................................................................................................. Index ..............................................................................................................

233 259

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Abbreviations

ACEs BAME BHV BLM CALD D(F)V GLLO LEPH LEPRA LEPRR LGBTIQ+ NSW PCSO PoC PV PTSD SLO UK UN US WHO

Adverse Childhood Experiences Black and Minority Ethnic (UK term) Behavioural Health Vulnerabilities Black Lives Matter Culturally and Linguistically Diverse (Australian term) Domestic (and Family) Violence Gay and Lesbian Liaison Officer Law Enforcement and Public Health Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Act 2002 Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Regulation 2016 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Intersex, Queer New South Wales, Australia Police Community Support Officer (UK) People of Colour (US term) Psychological vulnerability Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Sport Liaison Officer United Kingdom United Nations United States (of America) World Health Organization

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About the Authors

Nicole L. Asquith  is the Professor of Policing and Emergency Management, and Director of the Tasmanian Institute of Law Enforcement Studies at the University of Tasmania. In addition to her academic work, she is the Secretary of the Australian Hate Crime Network, and Co-Convenor of the NSW LGBTIQ Domestic and Family Violence Interagency, and along with Isabelle, she is the Co-director of the Vulnerability, Resilience and Policing Research Consortium. Nicole has worked with and for policing organisations for over 20 years, primarily in relation to the preparedness of police for managing complex interpersonal violence. She has published widely on vulnerability and policing, hate crimes, family and domestic violence, elder abuse, and honour-based violence. In addition to the two previous books co-edited with Isabelle—Policing Encounters with Vulnerability (2017), and Policing Vulnerability (2012)—Nicole is the author of Text and Context of Malediction (2008), and Critical Policing Studies (forthcoming), and co-author of Crime and Criminology (6e, 2017). Isabelle Bartkowiak-Théron  specialises in socio-legal studies, with a particular interest in police interaction with vulnerable people. She heads up the vulnerability, police education, and law enforcement and public health research streams at the Tasmanian Institute of Law Enforcement Studies. She is an award-winning police educator, and in her teaching capacity, coordinates the Tasmania Police Recruit Course for the University, within which she teaches on police interactions with vulnerable people. Within the Global Law Enforcement and Public Health Association, she heads the Education Special Interest Group, and sits on the First Responders Mental Health Special Interest Group. She has been the deputy chair of

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About the Authors

the Tasmanian Social Science Human Research Ethics Committee since 2018. She sits on various international journal editorial committees, and on international and Australian charitable, professional, and research governance boards, such as Connect42 (a Tasmanian charity that aims to promote literacy as a public health issue), the Australian Institute of Police Management Ethical Review and Research Governance Advisory Committee, and the Australia New Zealand Society of Criminology. She sits on the Australian Crime Prevention Council as the executive member for Tasmania, and on the Tasmanian Sentencing Advisory Council. She is the co-­ editor of Knowledge in Action (2014) and Law Enforcement and Public Health: Partners for Community Safety and Wellbeing (2021), and co-author of Rethinking Bail: Court Reform or Business as Usual?. James Clover  has been a police officer with the Edmonton Police Service since 1997, and has conducted work and research throughout Canada, the US, and Australia. Since 2014, James has been a member of the Faculty of Health & Community Studies at MacEwan University. He received the International Policing Award from the Canadian Association of Chiefs of Police in 2018 and was named Visiting Police Fellow with the Global Law Enforcement & Public Health Association in 2020. Donna Evans  is a PhD candidate at RMIT University, Australia. She has a Bachelor of Laws from the University of Technology, Sydney and Master of Social Change & Development with Distinction from the University of Newcastle. Her career includes more than 25 years of experience in public, private, and community legal practice, including roles as a Court Registrar, Chamber Magistrate, Bail Court and Authorised Justice. She has managed specialist legal and advocacy programmes including the Office of the Senior Practitioner Community Justice Programme (NSW, Australia); community legal education and policing partnerships (Vanuatu); research and advocacy (South Africa). Faith Gordon, PhD  is Senior Lecturer in Law at the Australian National University and Director of the Interdisciplinary International Youth Justice Network. She is Associate Research Fellow at the Institute of Advanced Legal Studies. Her research on young people, policing, the media, and digital technologies has had practical impact and was referenced by the UN Committee on the Rights of the Child at the examination of the UK Government’s child rights record (2015); in Judicial Review hearings—Northern Ireland High Court (2016, 2017) and in the UK Court of Appeal (2019)

About the Authors

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Melissa Jardine, PhD  is on the Board of Directors for the Global Law Enforcement & Public Health Association and Gender Advisor for the Centre for Law Enforcement & Public Health. She is the Regional Research Lead to the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, and UN Women in relation to gender, policing, border control, and transnational crimes in ASEAN. Melissa was a Victoria Police officer for ten years (2001–2011) working at the frontline and in criminal investigations in general duties, criminal investigations, the Asian Squad (disbanded), drug taskforces, and trained as an undercover operative. She is a current member of the Strategic Planning Committee for the International Association of Women Police (IAWP), and is on the Board of Directors of the Australia-Vietnam Young Leadership Dialogue. She has a long-term interest in the development of policing and security in Asia and completed her PhD on policing in Vietnam at the UNSW Law School. Melissa has written and delivered a range of international police training packages regarding HIV prevention, harm reduction approaches to drug use and sex work, and police-public health leadership. In 2017, Melissa was selected as an Asia 21 Young Leader by the Asia Society through a competitive process which identifies ‘dynamic individuals who will impact global affairs over the coming decades’, and featured in the Victoria Police ‘Badge and Beyond’ Police Life magazine in Winter 2017. Daniel Jones  has served with the Edmonton Police Service for 22 years. Daniel has worked in patrol, homicide, professional standards, specialised investigations, and indigenous relations. He earned his Master’s degree in Applied Criminology and Police Management from the University of Cambridge and is currently a PhD candidate at the University of Huddersfield, where he studies the victim/offender overlap in collaboration with the University of Alberta Prison Project. Daniel enjoys speaking at conferences, workshops, and universities around the world. Daniel is also an assistant lecturer in the Department of Sociology at the University of Alberta. Katy Kamkar, PhD., C. Psych  is a clinical psychologist at the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH) in Toronto, and an assistant professor, Department of Psychiatry, University of Toronto. She is the Executive Director of the Canadian Association of Fire Investigators. She sits on the board of directors for the following organisations: Badge of Life Canada, Operation Lifesaver Canada, and Canadian Juries Commission. Katy is a fellow and member of the Collaborative Centre for Justice and Safety Advisory Council; Chair of the Canadian Psychological Association Traumatic Stress Section; Co-Chair of Global Law Enforcement and Public Health Association Inc., Health of Police/ First Responders. She

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About the Authors

is also the provincial mental health advisor for St. John Ambulance Ontario’s council. She is a founding and credentialed member of the Canadian Association of Cognitive Behavioural Therapies, and is within the Research and Psychology Advisory Committees of the Canadian Association Chiefs of Police. She has been part of the Federal PTSD Act Advisory Committee, Public Health Agency of Canada, for the development of the PTSD Federal Framework. Katy has worked as a clinician and teacher in a wide variety of inpatient and outpatient settings, including service to Police and First Responders. Katy provides ongoing education and workshops to ministries and organisations (provincial, national, and international), including first responders’ organisations, on occupational health and safety, workplace mental health, occupational trauma and disability, and resiliency. Scott Keay  is Senior Lecturer and Researcher in Policing at Edge Hill University, UK.  Previously, he worked for Lancashire Constabulary for almost 20 years in various analytical and research positions including Criminal Intelligence Analyst, Senior Community Safety and Partnership Intelligence Analyst, and Data Analysis and Insight Manager. His research interests include developing the application of crime analysis, intelligence-led policing, evidence-based policing (EBP) and problem-­solving, and policing vulnerability. He is undertaking a PhD researching how the police define, identify, and respond to vulnerability. Robyn  Kennedy  has a long history of involvement in LGBTIQ+ activism and broader social justice and human rights issues. Robyn’s career has spanned government, not for profit and corporate sectors where she has provided advisory services aimed at addressing social inequity and disadvantage. During the 1970s, Robyn was the Secretary of CAMP (Campaign Against Moral Persecution), Australia’s first national LGBTIQ+ rights organisation. She is a 78er and a former member of the Board of Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. During 2019, Robyn led Sydney’s successful bid to host WorldPride 2023. Robyn is the current Co-Chair of the international InterPride Human Rights Committee. Robyn is a frequent international speaker on LGBTIQ+ rights issues, with a focus on grassroots action. At WorldPride 2019 in New York, Robyn spoke at the Human Rights Conference and addressed mass crowds at the Stonewall Rally. Robyn’s contribution to advancing the rights of LGBTIQ+ communities was recognised in 2018 when she was awarded ACON’s prestigious Community Hero Award. She has also been recognised for her contribution to LGBTIQ+ and women’s rights by the National Library of Australia in their collection of audio oral histories of distinguished Australians.

About the Authors

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Dale McFee  was sworn in as Edmonton’s 23rd Chief of Police for the Edmonton Police Service in 2019. Dale has an extensive background in policing, including 26 years as a police officer in Prince Albert, Saskatchewan (nine years as Chief of Police) and six years as the Deputy Minister of Corrections and Policing in the Ministry of Justice for the Saskatchewan government. From 2011 to 2014 he served as President and Past President of the Canadian Association of Chiefs of Police. Dale has received several commendations in his areas of expertise, including the appointment and subsequent promotion by the Governor General of Canada to the Officer of the Order of Merit of the Police Forces. He is a recognised Governor General Leadership alumnus, former citizen of the year within his home community, and the recipient of a provincial policing leadership award for Leadership in Multi-Agency Community Mobilization. Jenny Norman  is the Programme Director for the BSc Policing (Hons) in-service degree at Canterbury Christ Church University, UK. Her academic background is varied with a BSc (Hons) in Criminology & Criminal Justice and an MSc in Social Research Studies. She is studying her PhD part-time. She has a keen interest in both designing and conducting research in a policing context. She spent 13 years of her professional life working as a strategic researcher for the Metropolitan Police Service (MPS), and was involved in various action research and small-scale bespoke projects tailored to business need. One of Jenny’s ambitions is to ensure that research knowledge is transparent and transferable, so that the strategic and operational implications of the research findings are delivered to internal policy/ decision makers, and that practitioner voices are heard, to bring the operational experience to the table. Her PhD aims to capture police officer students’ experiences of using their knowledge gained from their degree in the work place. Robert  Skinner, PhD  is a qualified British Sign Language/English interpreter and researcher. In 2014 Robert joined the BSL team in the Centre for Translation & Interpreting Studies in Scotland at Heriot-Watt University working various projects, including the Justisigns project on police interpreting and the Translating the Deaf Self project on deaf people’s experiences of being interpreted. Robert was the inaugural winner of the Global Law Enforcement and Public Health Student award, for his PhD presentation ‘Approximately there: Positioning moves across VRS/ VRI interactions in a frontline policing context’ and completed his PhD at Heriot-­ Wat University in 2020. Robert has co-edited a volume Here or There: Research on Interpreting via Video Link (2018) with Jemina Napier and Sabine Braun, and has co-authored several published peer reviewed articles and book chapters.

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About the Authors

Geoff Steer  is a serving officer with the NSW Police Force. In his 25 years with the NSW Police Force, Geoff has performed General Duties, Covert Operations, and Hate Crimes policing. Geoff received his hate crime training through the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center (USA). He, proposed, set up, and ran the NSW Police Force Hate Crime Response and Bias Crimes Unit for seven years and developed a threat-based investigative approach to hate crimes. He is a member of the Skinhead Intelligence Network, which is a global law enforcement organisation that monitors and disrupts white supremacy. Emma Williams, PhD  is the Director of the Canterbury Policing Research Centre. She is currently working for the College of Policing on the Recognition of Prior Experiential Learning (RPEL) work strand of the Police Education Qualification Framework project. She worked as a senior researcher at the Metropolitan Police Service conducting operational and strategic research on priority issues and developed practical outputs to guide evidence-based police practice and training. She worked for two years, as part of a secondment process from the MPS, at the Ministry of Justice as a principal researcher conducting and advising on evaluations of various criminal justice policy. She taught at the University of North London and Brunel University. Her research interests are policing and victims of interpersonal crime, police professionalism, the use of research and education in policing, public perceptions and confidence in the police and community policing.

List of Figures

Fig. 3.1

Results Management Framework (adapted from NSW Police Force 2019)�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������42 Fig. 4.1 Relationship between the determinants of health and vulnerability (adapted from Drawing Change 2013)�����������������������������������������������53 Fig. 5.1 Arnstein’s (1969) ladder of citizen participation �������������������������������76 Fig. 6.1 ABCDE vulnerability assessment framework (adapted from MPS 2015) �����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������97 Fig. 7.1 PEACE model (adapted from UK College of Policing 2020) ���������115 Fig. 11.1 Cycle of domestic violence (adapted from MICAH Projects 2020)�����������������������������������������������������������������������������������186 Fig. 11.2 Continuum of hate (adapted from Hollomotz 2013)�������������������������187 Fig. 12.1 Capitol Crawl 1990 (© Tom Olin. Used by permission from the Tom Olin Collection) �����������������������������������������������������������������������209

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Part I Framing Vulnerability

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Vulnerability and Policing Practices

Introduction The issues linked to vulnerability in the criminal justice system were showcased in 2020 in ways that leave us with no doubt about the inadequacies of policing practices. A global pandemic unfolded as we sought to map out our arguments for this book. Then, after yet another officer-involved death in the US, the nascent social movement initiated in 2013 after the acquittal of George Zimmerman for the murder of Trayvon Martin was reinvigorated and went viral across the world. The confluence of COVID-19 and Black Lives Matter created the conditions to question with renewed vigour the role and remit of police, especially as it related to vulnerable people. While 2020 will be marked and remarked upon for decades to come, the issues foregrounded in this year of pandemics and protests are not new. The interest and capacity to resolve these issues are novel, however, and may provide the fertile ground from which to fundamentally re-orient policing to account for the harms caused and vulnerability exacerbated by current policing practices. We have seen an increase in scholarly and policy discussions focusing on vulnerability over the past 20 years. Specifically, the topic of vulnerability has grown significantly in the area of policing, in response to the realisation that most police encounters with the public are with vulnerable people. In this chapter, we re-­ introduce the topic of vulnerability in terms of its conceptualisation and operationalisation in policing. We address issues of group identity versus individual experiences of vulnerability and address the importance of procedural and trauma-informed © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_1

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practices in policing to address the safety, legal, and wellbeing rights of all vulnerable people in the policing process. In addition to framing the overall topic of vulnerability in policing, we establish the building blocks for some more vibrant conversations around how vulnerability can be taught, addressed in policing practice, and researched empirically.

Legitimising the Attention to Vulnerability in Policing The topic of vulnerability is now widespread; whether in the media, in policy documents, legislation, or scholarly debate. It is either used in lay terms or within specific definitions guided by legislation and disciplinary confines. It is not that the topic is new, however. The fields of philosophy and bioethics have long discussed vulnerability, particularly in terms of understanding the human condition (Macklin 2012; Luna 2009). What is new is how the language of ‘vulnerability’, ‘vulnerable people’, ‘vulnerable groups’, or ‘vulnerable populations’ (and all other labels; Howes et  al. 2017) now permeates policy and practice discourse in the field of policing. The terminology is not without its detractors, and the introduction of vulnerability as a topic of attention in policing has been, and is still now, accompanied with calls for better definitions of the term (Keay and Kirby 2017; Enang et al. 2019; Ford et al. 2020). A clear definition of vulnerability is critical to its operationalisation, which currently remains fragmented, and fenced in maximalist or minimalist frameworks. An example of minimalist understanding of ‘vulnerability’ can be found in the UK, where vulnerability is operationalised using the Ministry of Justice Code of Practice for Victims of Crime definition, which states that “… a victim as vulnerable if they are under the age of 18 years or have a mental or physical disability, disorder or significant impairment’ (Ford et al. 2020). According to this minimalist framework, vulnerability attributes can be conveniently listed and ‘ticked off’ in legislation and policy, and attendant supports are perfunctory. For example, identifying someone as speaking English as second language automatically gets a translator; a child is provided with a parent, guardian, or child protection worker; a person with a medical issue is provided with a medical practitioner. Much legislation and policy around the world have adopted this minimalist approach (Enang et al. 2019); albeit, with some jurisdictional discretion as to who is and who is not vulnerable. For example, Section 28 of the New South Wales Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Regulation 2016 only allows space for five specific categories of vulnerability (with some loose onus on custody managers to assess this vulnerability): children, people with physical or intellectual impairment,

Legitimising the Attention to Vulnerability in Policing

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Aboriginals and Torres Strait Islanders, and people of non-English speaking background. The minimalist approach to vulnerability is ill-advised, however, and actually implies that one needs to be ‘deserving’ of vulnerability status to be granted special precautionary measures. It implies a hierarchy of suffering (Mason-Bish 2013), which negates any consideration of a person-centred approach to the living conditions and histories of those who need support. The maximalist understanding of ‘vulnerability’ foregrounds its ubiquity, and its centrality to the human condition. This approach stems from the disciplines of philosophy and bioethics, which approach vulnerability as a fundamental trait (fragility) of any human being (Macklin 2012; Luna 2009). The definition takes the word within its own etymology: from the Latin ‘vulnus’, which denotes a capacity for being wounded psychologically, emotionally, or physically, and as we have noted elsewhere, is often associated with ‘… negative connotations of weakness, lack of agency, and dependency’” (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2017, 2). From this perspective, vulnerability is a universal trait of humanness. Anyone, at any particular point in time, can be made vulnerable and susceptible to harm. By extension, vulnerability can be temporary, transient, enduring; it can also be exacerbated or become permanent. In this sense, vulnerability can be: 1) Temporary 2) Permanent 3) Layered 4) Incremental 5) Apparent 6) Non-apparent (or hidden). Such a maximalist perspective on vulnerability has some significant implications for policing. It highlights that the (minimalist) ‘tick-box’ exercise is futile. If anyone can be vulnerable at any point in time, and if vulnerability cannot be assess prima facie, then it is only justifiable that police be ready for its ubiquity. The Queensland Police Service has attempted to depart from a minimalist approach to vulnerability by drafting a policy that addresses its universality and makes all police officers responsible for ‘… improving service delivery to vulnerable people in line with the ambition of this policy’ (Queensland Police Service 2020). The service still considers some types of individual experiences (e.g., disability, age), but frames these individual vulnerabilities in terms of the situations and circumstances of vulnerability. This approach is more encompassing of all vulnerability and aims to identify the individual, social, and institutional contexts of vulnerability (Bartkowiak-­Théron and Asquith 2017).

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A policing focus on vulnerability is legitimate, ‘… with increasing prioritisation being given to the identification, assessment, and management of vulnerable victims and perpetrators of crime’ (Enang et al. 2019, 3). First of all, scrutiny into what police actually do has resulted in a significant finding that most police work actually has little to do with crime. According to the College of Policing (2015), as much as 84% of police work has nothing to do with crime, and that about 75% of that policing revolves around addressing problems encountered by vulnerable people, including providing help to other specialist agencies (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2017). Furthermore, various government agencies already acknowledge in their own policies, the complicated nature of vulnerability in the field: A large proportion of clients who access alcohol, tobacco and other drug services are presenting with increasingly complex and multiple needs. In some cases, these clients also present with difficult (and at times high risk) behaviours. The needs of the client group can be complicated by the presence of coexisting mental health issues (Tasmanian Department of Health 2020)

It is only logical, then, if vulnerable people constitute a ‘critical mass’ in police work, that police pay due attention to those with whom they work the most. It is also logical that police devise robust protocols that help, or prepare, them to unpack some of the most challenging of conditions (e.g., tri-morbidity, etc). Most importantly, according to principles of procedural and distributive justice, and as per their role of gatekeepers to the criminal justice system, it is necessary for police to be able to fully comprehend the exact circumstances of a person in order to build a proper case at law, protect a victim, or inform witnesses.

Preparing Police Officers As a result of decades of austerity measures, or budget cuts triggered by global financial crises, police have increasingly been placed at the front end of government responses to issues that were never intended to be within their remit in the first place (van Dijk et al. 2015). We have known for decades that police often intervene ‘in matters that contain no criminal and often no legal aspects … and [that] there is scarcely a human predicament imaginable for which police aid has not been solicited and obtained at one time or another’ (Bittner 1967, 703). With police becoming the first port of call for vulnerability issues such as homelessness, mental health crisis, safeguarding, and youth issues, the ever-present and always-responding police have had to adapt quickly to specialist demands that were left unanswered (especially at 2 am on a Saturday morning). The evidence is overwhelming that

Preparing Police Officers

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police have been ill-prepared for such responses, despite being a default ‘secret social service’ (Punch 1979). These kinds of activities triggered discussions of the ever-changing and ever-expanding police role towards one of ‘street psychologists’ or ‘kiddies-cops’ (Bartkowiak-Théron and Layton 2012). The result of this lack of preparation is the multiplication of procedural errors, sometimes fatal. This has led to new and increased scrutiny from the public and other governing bodies about the engagement of police with, and their response to, vulnerable people in the field (Ford et al. 2020). We are now seeing a shift in the conceptualisation of these responses, with further calls for collaborative and multi-disciplinary action, which go beyond ‘… shared vision and professional will’, and need to be founded on robust ‘… shared policy, knowledge and access’ (Murray et al. 2020). Such calls are often led by multi-agency governing bodies, in order to cater for the multi-layered needs of community members (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2017; Murray et  al. 2020). The ‘non-traditional’ demands on police—that is, those activities that cannot be administered by other government or non-government agencies than police (Boulton et al. 2017)—require that police reconsider their role, not solely as law enforcers, but as vehicles for the promotion and delivery of public health services. The work of police has increasingly shifted from crime control towards that of facilitation of welfare services for the most vulnerable members of the community, with an oft-observed ‘assistance’ or ‘escort’ role for minor safety matters (e.g., escorting a sedated mentally ill patient between gazetted facilities). Preparing police officers for such a role is a constant tension between observing the realities of the field, and the political discourse about policing. This discourse tends to belittle and dismiss the so-called ‘social work’ of police (often associated with community policing) for more ‘tough on crime’, politically pleasing and voter-friendly stances on non-discretionary, strict law enforcement. The tension is exemplified in the reality that police are a first port of call for everything. They have become the illegitimate and unwilling ‘heirs’ to a plethora of prevention and early intervention activities aimed at vulnerable people, which, due to systematic and deep budget cuts, have become the responsibility of the police. With the public expectation that police will show up to any call—and against public sector downsizing and lack of commitment to acting upstream of a crisis or of an offence (Boulton et al. 2017)—it is not surprising that police become involved when vulnerability crises are already exacerbated. Progress is being observed, however, in some of the particular ‘vulnerability hotspots’ that constitute a critical mass for police (Boulton et al. 2017). Police officers, either on general or specialist duties, are learning more about de-escalation techniques, about adverse childhood experiences, and about trauma more gener-

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ally. With some jurisdictions insisting that police should know and learn about the deep social issues that impact on their daily work (Cordner 2016, 2019; President Task Force 2015), there is a noticeable effort made to allow police to contextualise the individuals with whom they interact. It does not mean that police should become a ‘Jack(ie)-of-all-trades’; albeit they are sometimes called that (Bartkowiak-­ Théron and Julian 2018). Yet, they are enmeshed with the public health landscape in which vulnerability unfolds and are a critical referral point to those who have spent decades honing their specialised skills (medical practitioners, interpreters, emergency care workers, housing workers, teachers, etc.).

Moving from Identity to Experience One of the difficulties in preparing practitioners for vulnerability is the constantly changing landscape of vulnerability. When we submitted our first book to the publishers in 2012 (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2012), one of us said to the other, ‘I bet you, now that we have handed in this manuscript, we will find a new category of vulnerability within the next six months’. Within three weeks of making that statement, Australia launched a campaign about abuse directed at left-handed persons. This example was to be re-contextualised in adverse childhood experiences, with pictures of children bullying others, sometimes violently, on the playground. In a profound example of how far-reaching negative experiences can be, the 2012 ‘Is it okay to be left handed?’ campaign (Beyond Blue 2012) associated issues of identity to deeply traumatising experiences of abuse. To be frank, such issues of left-handedness, of cultural accents, or wearing glasses, or iris heterochromia (having a different or partially different eye colour) can be dismissed as minor inconveniences. Yet, the fact remains that left-handed people, for example, can be the targets of abuse or mockery, which, if occurring at an early age, can have dramatic ramifications on self-esteem and individual life trajectories. However, they exemplify how the vulnerability landscape can fluctuate from one day to another (left-handedness was punished in schools until the mid-twentieth century), and suddenly become police business. What is important to outline here also is that vulnerability should not attributed as an identity; instead, we need to focus on how individuals can be vulnerabilised by their individual, social, and situational contexts (Luna 2009). Some individuals can be unfazed by their own embodied or acquired vulnerability, because they have developed coping mechanisms to manage and live with this vulnerability (Bartkowiak-­Théron and Asquith 2012). Other individuals have the capacity to hide their vulnerability, for reasons that can range from feeling embarrassed about

Our Purpose

9

them or wanting to obtain employment without divulging any kind of possible obstacle. Some will refuse, altogether, a vulnerability label under the argument that they feel that it diminishes, denies, or strips them of their status, identity, or position in society. Vulnerability cannot be a blanket attachment to social groups. Vulnerability is lived, experienced, and harnessed, or otherwise, in a variety of forms and circumstances.

Our Purpose In writing this book, we aim to answer some of the questions currently left unanswered in the debates around vulnerability in policing. Our first contributions started a process of situating vulnerability in the policing process (from ethical standards to education, from arrest to release into the jurisdiction of the courts; see Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2012). We then examined various case studies of police encounters with vulnerability (see Asquith et al. 2017). This book, this time around, examines the various empirical and structural contexts in which vulnerability can unfold, or needs to be addressed in policing, in order to prepare frontline police for the ubiquity of vulnerability. Of course, we go back to unpacking, more holistically, the various theorisations of vulnerability in the policing environment, and outline the variety of individual attributes that may render a person vulnerable in the context of criminal justice. We also consider the ways in which police organisations have attempted, historically, to ‘reach out’ to marginalised, vulnerabilised communities by way of liaison schemes or engagement. This analysis reminds us that true engagement is not done to someone, but rather consists of considerate, purposeful knowledge exchanges that should be beneficial to all parties. In looking at the structural or organisational components of policing vulnerability, we reject the notion that vulnerable people lack agency and strength and foreground the ways in which the lived experience of vulnerability sometimes allows vulnerable people to build resilience and demand autonomy. The more logistical components of police work required for us to dig into the various procedures associated with working with known or alleged offenders, including matters of arrest, detention, and interviewing individuals in police custody. We also consider what police procedures can do to address the needs of vulnerable victims and witnesses, including how vulnerability underlies experiences of targeted violence (e.g., domestic violence and hate crime). We also consider the dark side of working with or on vulnerability, which impacts on police to manage their own vulnerability.

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One of the key strengths of this book is that we have reached out to our network of practitioner and academic colleagues to provide vignettes (called A View from the Frontline), which exemplify the variety of circumstances in which vulnerability was a factor in re-balancing the interaction of police with an individual. Their reflective insight allows us to dissect the magnitude of vulnerability, and the ways police are able to communicate, liaise, and engage with vulnerable people respectfully and in ways that do not exacerbate their vulnerability. We welcome the ­introduction of the new areas of vulnerability that our practitioners bring to the discussion, such as sign language, leadership, sex work, and vulnerability in the Global South. The editorial limits of this book prevent us from addressing some issues explicitly. As vulnerability is ubiquitous, attempting to address all its forms is an impossible ambition. Instead we recognise that with each contribution, we fill a newly identified scholarly and practice gap, which has been left unaddressed for too long.

A View from the Frontline

Young People, Policing, and Vulnerability In the context of the criminal justice system, the formal contact that young people typically first have with the system usually commences with police contact. For example, local residents complaining about young people ‘hanging around outside the shops’, has long represented one principal means by which young people come into contact with police, however they rarely call the police as victims of crime. The rise in the use of technology by criminal justice agencies, in particular the police, to surveil young people has led to the erosion of public–private boundaries (Gordon 2018). Myers (2019) argues that the existence of this ‘pervasive supervision and surveillance’ of young people, and in particular those from working class backgrounds, has led to the normalisation of ‘the police presence’ in their lives. The over-regulation of certain groups, such as young people navigating particular challenges such as homelessness in Australia, experiencing what they describe as harassment and intimidation by police in public spaces. Police use of their ‘stop and search’ powers and legacies in communities of what is referred to as ‘over-policing’ demonstrate negative consequences for youth and police relations (Gordon 2018). Studies in Australia and elsewhere have long identified that the relationships between the police and young people are often conflictual and fed by mutual antipathy and intolerance. (continued)

Our Purpose

11

(continued) Young people, particularly from Indigenous, migrant, and culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds experience higher levels of contact with the police than those of other ethnic backgrounds. Similarly research I have conducted in Northern Ireland found that young people’s sense of belonging in their community and their sense of safety were significantly impacted upon by the kinds of interactions they had with police officers in their community (Gordon 2019). The question of whether young people as a social group are deemed ‘vulnerable’ is closely linked to ‘risk’. Within the existing international human right’s legal framework there are specific protections for those social groups and individuals who are deemed to be vulnerable. While the concept of vulnerability has long been utilised in the context of international law and present in discourse, its nature is contested. Those identified and labelled as ‘vulnerable’ may, in reality, resist the term and its socially constructed meaning. The notion of ‘vulnerability’ is also present in a contested form in relation to children and young people. While childhood has long been socially constructed as a period of innocence and dependency on adults, youth and adolescence are typically viewed as a time of stretching boundaries and engaging in ‘risk-taking’ behaviours (Gordon 2018: 82). In their observations of government responses to Māori children and their families in Aotearoa-New Zealand, Stanley and Monod De Froideville (2020: 2-3) assert that ‘vulnerability can be used to develop emancipatory ends, or to precipitate control’. In reality, children and their families ‘must … perform their vulnerability in a way that makes them appear as deserving’ of support (Stanley and Monod De Froideville 2020: 4–5). This is ‘problematic’ for children and young people ‘who are regarded as having more complex needs and histories’, such as ‘Indigenous children, girls, LGBTIQ+ children, those with disabilities, ethnic minority populations or child asylum seekers’, who are the most likely to experience victimisation and challenges in their everyday lives (Stanley and Monod De Froideville 2020: 4–5). Those who are not ascribed the label ‘vulnerable’ (Gordon 2018) or ‘are simply unable to perform an “ideal” vulnerable identity’ (Stanley and Monod De Froideville 2020: 4–5) are at the receiving end of increased social control and regulation. (continued)

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(continued) Dr. Faith Gordon Australian National University • Gordon, F. (2018). Children, Young People and the Press in a Transitioning Society: Representations, Reactions and Criminalisation. London: Palgrave. Policing Definitions on Vulnerability: Do We Need One? The term ‘vulnerability’ is rich yet complex and defining it is a difficult task. The term has been discussed in a variety of disciplines across academic literature as the topic has blossomed in the last decade. Dealing with vulnerable people has also been recognised as a key feature of the policing mission across the globe. Two key bodies that influence policing practice in the UK have different definitions of vulnerability. The College of Policing have a comprehensive definition and the body for inspecting police forces, the HMICFRS (Her Majesties Inspectorate of Constabularies and Fire and Rescue Services), have a concise but vague one, which is not particularly helpful for police strategy. Interestingly, the HMICFRS also note that definitions vary across police forces. This can provide a confusing landscape and does little to provide guidance or support to front line responders. Furthermore, by definition alone, a vulnerable person may fall within the vulnerable group in one force area and not another. The debates focussing on the concept and its definition has been shown to confuse practitioners (Keay and Kirby 2017). Whilst commentators, both practitioner and researcher, discuss the various merits of differing definitions and the concept of vulnerability, one cannot help but worry that this energy has taken away from the main thrust of police aims: to identify and respond to the needs of vulnerable people. This debate has certainly helped increase the research interest into the topic and support policing. Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith provided the first comprehensive collection of research on policing vulnerability in 2012. This helped provide a platform for further research and understanding of how police forces interact with vulnerable people. Regardless of the various nuances of differing definitions, placing this topic in the spotlight for an organisation that deals with vulnerability on a daily basis is a welcome one. Indeed, in a policing context, dealing with vulnerability has become a significant part of strategy and policy for a number of years now. Stemming (continued )

Conclusion

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(continued) from austerity in the UK, targeting vulnerability was the catalyst to target those in crisis for a couple of reasons: to reduce demand on policing and to help support those with significant needs before they reached crisis point. Ultimately, defining vulnerability so far seems to have done little to educate front line police responders, but this is improving. However, the focus on tackling vulnerability, regardless of how it is defined, is most welcome. By trying to define and identify it, policing has engaged more with other public services and agencies, particularly health services in attempting to reach those with the greatest needs. This is a positive and inclusive step for policing and one that should help towards reducing long-term demand through dealing with chronic problems (Ratcliffe 2019) and root causes. Scott Keay Edge Hill University • Keay, S., & Kirby, S. (2018). Defining Vulnerability: From the Conceptual to the Operational. Policing: A Journal of Policy and Practice, 12(4), 428–438.

Conclusion One request we constantly receive from scholars and practitioners is: how do we, or should we, define ‘vulnerability’ in policing (Keay and Kirby 2017; Enang et al. 2019)? In the midst of a growing field of considerations that systematically strives, and yet fails, to simplify working definitions, we suggest the below definitions. In 2017, the Law Enforcement and Public Health research team at the University of Tasmania (in conjunction with the International Federation of Red Cross) proposed the following definition for vulnerability: … the diminished capacity of an individual or group to anticipate, cope with, resist and recover from the impact of [difficult circumstances]. The concept is relative and dynamic. Vulnerability is most often associated with issues of disadvantage, but can also arise when people are isolated, insecure and defenceless in the face of risk, crime, specific personal attributes (innate, structural, or acquired), shock or stress. Vulnerability can be temporary, permanent, incremental, progressive or transient. (Bartkowiak-Théron et al. 2017, 7)

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We propose to operationalise this definition, in line with Watts and Bohle’s (1993) conceptualisation, as: Any circumstance or condition that is likely to create or exacerbate harm.

A vulnerable person is, therefore: Any individual likely to experience harm as a result of their individual, social, or situational contexts, and who is unable to mitigate that harm.

There is an argument to be made that such a definition is too broad. But this is our point. Abiding by a competition of vulnerabilities (to adapt terminology from Mason-­Bish 2013), based on a minimalist definition of vulnerability is unproductive, and potentially destructive to those who do not feature on a list. It is also counter-productive in addressing the harms adhered to and created by policing practices. We disagree with any argument that such a definition cannot be operationalised in policing. On the contrary: it acknowledges that vulnerability is universal, which we have argued should be addressed through universal precautions models (see ► Chap. 2 for extended discussion of universal precautions; Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2012, 2017). Such an approach forewarns and prepares police officers to consider vulnerability, including their own (also, the vulnerability of their case), in any kind of context, situation, or event. It also encourages forms of respectful, careful engagement with vulnerable communities, which are likely to address the current de-legitimisation of policing unfolding in the wake of George Floyd’s death, and in respectful honour of all his predecessors. Black Lives Matter, along with COVID-19, requires us to reconsider business-as-usual and to create a new vision of safety and wellbeing that seeks to reduce the harms caused as a consequence of policing practices. The minimalist operationalisation of vulnerability in policing warrants criticism. Who would want to limit access to justice to only recognisable vulnerable people, and would cut strings to international human rights legislation? So let’s ask them the question frankly: who is it that you choose to deny access to justice, better health, wellbeing, and overall support services? Who are those individuals or families? Why would they be unworthy of precautionary measures? The policing of vulnerability needs to be reconsidered in some jurisdictions, and we hope this new contribution to the vulnerability policing literature not only fosters new conversations and operational understandings of vulnerability, but also some new empirical research in a growing field of interest.

Readings and Resources

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Activities 1. Consider your own experience and history. What conditions or circumstances have made you vulnerable? What did you need to overcome them? Did you seek any kind of support? 2. In your own words, define vulnerability in policing from your perspective. 3. Consider your family or your neighbourhood. How has the COVID-19 pandemic affected your immediate social networks? To what extent has it revealed new vulnerabilities for you?

Readings and Resources Queensland Police Service. (2020). Persons who are Vulnerable, Disabled or have Cultural Needs. Retrieved July 15, 2020, from https://tinyurl.com/QPOL-­vulnerable-­people-­ policy. United Nations (UN) General Assembly. (1948). Universal Declaration of Human Rights (217 [III] A). Retrieved from https://www.un.org/en/universal-­declaration-­human-­rights/.

Bibliography Asquith, N. L., Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Roberts, K. A. (Eds.). (2017). Policing encounters with vulnerability. London: Palgrave. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (Eds.). (2012). Policing vulnerability. Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N.  L. (2017). Conceptual divides and practice synergies in law enforcement and public health: Some lessons from policing vulnerability in Australia. Policing and Society, 27(3), 276–288. https://doi.org/10.1080/10439463.2016. 1216553. Bartkowiak-Théron, I. & Julian, R. (2018). Collaboration and communication in police work: The ‘jack-of-all-trades’ phenomenon. Retrieved July 13, 2020, from https://connect42.org/collaboration-­and-­communication-­in-­police-­work-­the-­jack-­of-­all-­trades-­ phenomenon/. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Layton, C. (2012). Educating for vulnerability. In I. Bartkowiak-­ Théron & N.  L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp.  47–63). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., Campbell, D., Julian, R., & Hughes, C. (2017). Law enforcement and public health issues paper. Hobart, TAS: University of Tasmania, Tasmanian Institute of Law Enforcement Studies. Beyond Blue. (2012). Is it okay to be left handed? Retrieved July 12, 2020, from https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=J1KiniuXwwk. Bittner, E. (1967). The Police on Skid-Row: A Study of Peace Keeping. Pennsylvania: Ardent Media.

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Boulton, L., McManus, M., Metcalfe, L., Brian, D., & Dawson, I. (2017). Calls for police service: Understanding the demand profile and the UK police response. The Police Journal, 90(1), 70–85. Cordner, G. (2016). The unfortunate demise of police education. Journal of Criminal Justice Education, 27(4), 485–496. Cordner, G. (2019). Rethinking police education in the United States. Police Practice and Research, 20(3), 225–239. Enang, I., Murray, J., Dougall, N., Wooff, A., Heyman, I., & Aston, E. (2019). Defining and assessing vulnerability within law enforcement and public health organisations: A scoping review. Health Justice, 7(2). https://doi.org/10.1186/s40352-­019-­0083-­z. Ford, K., Newbury, A., Meredith, Z., Evans, J., Hughes, K., Roderick, J., & Bellis, M. A. (2020). Understanding the outcome of police safeguarding notifications to social services in South Wales. The Police Journal, 93(2), 87–108. Howes, L., Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N.  L. (2017). A federation of clutter: The bourgeoning language of vulnerability in Australian policing policies. In N. L. Asquith, I.  Bartkowiak-Théron, & K.  A. Roberts (Eds.), Policing encounters with vulnerability (pp. 89–118). London: Palgrave. Keay, S., & Kirby, S. (2017). Defining vulnerability: From the conceptual to the operational. Policing: A Journal of Policy and Practice, 12(4), 428–438. Luna, F. (2009). Elucidating the concept of vulnerability: Layers not labels. International Journal of Feminist Approaches to Bioethics, 2(1), 121–139. Macklin, R. (2012). A global ethics approach to vulnerability. International Journal of Feminist Approaches to Bioethics, 5(2), 64–81. Mason-Bish, H. (2013). Conceptual issues in the construction of disability hate crime. In A. Roulstone & H. Mason-Bish (Eds.), Disability, hate crime and violence (pp. 11–24). London & New York: Routledge. Murray, J., Heyman, I., Dougall, N., Wooff, A., Aston, E., & Enang, I. (2020). Co-creation of five key research priorities across law enforcement and public health: A methodological example and outcomes. Journal of Psychiatric and Mental Health Nursing. https://doi. org/10.1111/jpm.12664. Myers, T. G. (2019). Youth squad: Policing children in the Twentieth Century. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. President’s Task Force on 21st Century Policing. (2015). Final report of the President’s task force on 21st century policing. Washington, DC: Office of Community Oriented Policing Services. Punch, M. (1979). The secret social service. In S.  Holdaway (Ed.), The British police (pp. 102–117). London: Edward Arnold. Ratcliffe, J. (2019). Reducing crime: A companion for police leaders. Oxon: Routledge. Stanley, E., & Monod De Froideville, S. (2020). From vulnerability to risk: Consolidating state interventions towards Māori children and young people in New Zealand. Critical Social Policy. https://doi.org/10.1177/0261018319895203. Tasmanian Department of Health (2020). Psychosocial Interventions. Retrieved July 13, 2020, from http://www.dhhs.tas.gov.au/mentalhealth/alcohol_and_drug/services/psychosocial_intervention. van Dijk, A., Hoogewoning, F., & Punch, M. (2015). What matters in policing? Change values and leadership in turbulent times. Bristol: Policy Press. Watts, M.  J., & Bohle, H.  G. (1993). The space of vulnerability: The causal structure of hunger and famine. Progress in Human Geography, 17(1), 43–67. https://doi. org/10.1177/030913259301700103.

2

Conceptual Understandings of Vulnerability

Introduction Criminal justice agencies and support services are increasingly required to consider and address the vulnerability of their staff and clients and the vulnerability created or exacerbated by criminal justice encounters. With government expectations to do more with fewer resources, increased public scrutiny, and under the guise of ‘whole of government’ practices, managing vulnerability has become an imperative throughout policing. Despite a renewed focus on vulnerability, the underlying concepts informing policy and practice have not been clearly articulated or operationalised in policing (we discuss this in more detail in ► Chap. 3). This has resulted in the explosion of vulnerability terminology and conflicting and duplicated policy guidelines and practice tools, which are of little help for practitioners and difficult to put into practice at the frontline (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2015, 2017).  There are different sign languages around the world, each with their own vocabulary and grammar. Like spoken languages, there are sociolinguistic factors such as regional variations, variations linked to age or even gender. Some countries are home to multiple national signed languages such as Canada, which has American Sign Language (ASL), Inuit Sign Language (IUR), and Maritime Sign Language (MSL, a variation of British Sign Language) and Quebec Sign Language (LSQ). With increasing global migration, a deaf person from one sign language community (e.g., Cambodian Sign Language (CSL)) may move and become part of another (Australian Sign Language, or Auslan). 1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_2

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Defining vulnerability as a group attribute, yet responding to vulnerability as an individual ‘problem’, has led to the multiplication of vulnerable groups requiring police attention, which has led to a ‘competition of suffering’ (Mason-Bish 2013). As operationalised, the current approach to vulnerability relies upon a (measurable) checklist of characteristics. The checklist, however, fails to provide a full picture of an individual’s circumstances as a victim, offender, or witness—or even as a practitioner. Importantly, it fails to capture the (re)production of vulnerability by the policing system itself. In place of this flawed approach, we propose to situate vulnerability under a ‘universal precautions’ framework, which focuses on processes that vulnerabilise (not people who are vulnerable), and institutionalises responses to vulnerability (rather than relies on a police officer’s discretion and conjecture about a person’s circumstances) (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2017). This approach not only ensures that people vulnerablised by the system are accounted for and counted in the costs of policing, but also that the ubiquity of vulnerability we have witnessed in the wake of COVID-19 is integrated in our understandings of the role and remit of police.

Concepts ‘Vulnerability’ is a state of being defenceless or vulnerable, which is linked to the Latin term, vulnus (to wound) (Oxford English Dictionary 2020). The term evolved to refer to physical wounding, as well as psychological, emotional, and psychic harm, and is used most often in the purely negative sense of harm or wounding. Positive conceptualisations of vulnerability are possible. As Misztal (2011) and Levine (2004) identify, in its more contemporary use, to be vulnerable also positively denotes openness: ‘being in touch with one’s feelings’ (Misztal 2011, 396). However, vulnerability is most commonly constructed as a negative state of being that one must avoid at all costs (Levine 2004; Turner 2006). Vulnerability-as-weakness has shaped the development of the concept within criminology and policing and in the development of social and welfare services (Thorneycroft 2017). When applied to the provision of support, the term loses its universality and is reserved for only those identified as incapable of managing their own affairs. Those people defined as vulnerable inhabit landscapes of poverty, deprivation, and dependence. Their potential autonomy in the face of the dangers of everyday social life is often ignored even while some policy responses (such as THRIVE; Prevention Institute 2020) may seek to develop vulnerable people’s resilience. Vulnerability-as-weakness is conventionally assigned to the infirm or developmentally immature (whether children or those with intellectual and cognitive delays), and these labels allude to the dependency upon others (Misztal 2011). This

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type of ‘vulnerability’ conventionally requires police services to create bespoke legislation, policy, and practices. The legislative and policy contexts of the concept of vulnerability and how it is operationalised will be discussed in following chapters. For now, it is enough to highlight that the definition of vulnerability is commonly framed as a negative experience, and that when applied to policing, it is largely defined in terms of exceptional experiences.

Types of Vulnerability Vulnerability can arise for a variety of reasons, and the source of that vulnerability may not be the person themselves. We must also consider a person’s full circumstances and examine how vulnerabilities can emerge in specific situations or contexts, including the criminal justice system itself. Vulnerabilities come in four forms, which are not mutually exclusive: 1. Ontological vulnerability refers to the fragile nature of being human. Humans are fragile creatures subject to harms from others and from the environment, including disrespect from others (what Hage (2006) calls, ‘everyday exterminabilities’) through to death from a tsunami. Ontological vulnerability impacts on all individuals, irrespective of their membership of any social group, or the situation. The police as an institution exist primarily because of our ontological vulnerability. It is an institution designed to limit the opportunities for our fragile bodies (and minds) to be harmed. 2. Individual vulnerabilities are experienced differently by some individuals as a consequence of circumstances such as age, indigeneity, race/ethnicity, mental illness, cognitive impairment, disability, homelessness, sexuality and/or gender identity, or addiction (Asquith 2012; Baldry 2014; Baldry et  al. 2012, 2013; Brown 2015; Cummins 2007; Cunneen and Porter 2017; Dwyer 2014; Hollomotz 2009; Lurigio and Swartz 2000; Roulstone and Sadique 2012; Rowe 2007; Zakrison et al. 2004). Some of these vulnerabilities are already acknowledged in policing and are addressed primarily through exceptional service enhancement or special provisions. 3. Situational vulnerabilities are likely to arise in policing because it is the circumstances—of victimisation, witnessing, or offending—that give rise to the vulnerability. All people who engage with the criminal justice system usually experience some sort of situational vulnerability. For example, having your house burgled can make people feel vulnerable—to further invasion of privacy, to the use of stolen items to blackmail, to feeling unsafe to further attacks.

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4. Iatrogenic—or system-generated—vulnerabilities are created or exacerbated due to the policing process. For example, the harms created to an offender with a mental illness who is detained without diagnosis or treatment or, in the specific case of settler or colonial nations, the increased likelihood of First Nations Peopless to self-harm or suicide in isolation custody. In addition to accounting for these four forms of vulnerability, we must also be able to account for the ways in which these types of vulnerability intersect in some policing encounters, and that some people who come in contact with police may have layers of vulnerability that impact on how they respond to police and policing processes (Luna 2009). To further complicate these frontline encounters, some people may be vulnerable temporarily (e.g., if they are unemployed or without an abode for a short period of time), while others have enduring vulnerability that impacts on lifecourse development and their capacity to manage this vulnerability (e.g., cognitive disability).

Who Is Vulnerable? To date, much of the work by policing organisations has focused on the first (individual) and second (situational) forms of vulnerability. Almost invariably, responses to this vulnerability are framed through a deficit model that constructs difference as problematic and is disempowering for those labelled vulnerable (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2012a). However, labelling can also be a positive step in the allocation of necessary support mechanisms, without which vulnerable victims may see their situation escalate, or may be further harmed. While the focus has historically been on the vulnerability of victims, our research on the first, individual, form of vulnerability demonstrates that at least 75% of police work is with offenders exhibiting at least one recognised, individual vulnerability attribute (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2015). Recent research in the UK has found that 84% of calls to police relate to non-crime matters such as safeguarding and vulnerability (UK College of Policing 2015, 16). Even in considering both offenders and victims, this only captures the most visible or apparent characteristics of vulnerability and fails to consider the additional layers of ontological, situational, and iatrogenic vulnerability. Vulnerability is ubiquitous; it is everywhere, present in all people, at times, and can arise in a variety of contexts.

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Vulnerability is not solely reserved for victims. Offenders, witnesses, and even practitioners can be vulnerable. Yet, when we consider vulnerability within the clichéd construction of crime and policing as a dangerous world of hardened offenders and vulnerable victims, the depth and breadth of vulnerability can be missed. Most policing organisations only operationalise three key vulnerability attributes—age, mental illness/cognitive impairment, and race—despite the historical attention paid to a much wider range of vulnerabilising experiences (e.g., sexual assault victimisation). Granted, policing can involve dangerous work with dangerous people. In the stereotype of hardened offenders, it is police officers’ vulnerability that is most often foregrounded. Any attempt at understanding the vulnerabilities of the hardened offenders is seen as risky, overly sensitive, and naïve to the dangers of policing. However, most policing encounters are not with dangerous, career offenders; they are with first time victims and offenders who are facing their own fragility, may have pre-existing individual vulnerabilities, and may also be vulnerable due to their innocence or naivety. Police officers in all encounters may be vulnerable to vicarious trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) or, occasionally, physical injury due to unexpected and spontaneous violence. This vulnerability, which we explore further in ► Chap. 11, is situational, and fundamentally linked to the processes of policing, including the situational contexts that may arise from inadequate training and support in managing other people’s grief and adversity. Even in those rare encounters with hardened offenders, vulnerability can be present. The individual vulnerabilities of the offender shape the policing encounter, and the possible resolution to the encounter. Mental illness, cognitive disability, immaturity, or race/ethnicity/indigeneity can exacerbate the vulnerability of offenders. An offender’s vulnerability may be seized upon by police officers as a way to shore-up a conviction (such as the use of an offender’s cognitive impairments to elicit a confession; see ► Chap. 6 for more details on this aspect), which will have an impact throughout the criminal justice process. If the offender’s vulnerability is left unaddressed, there are a number of consequences that need to be considered, such as the overturning of judgments because of a lack of due process rights, or an internal investigation into police action. It is already clear from the above discussion that many individuals who come in contact with the police have pre-existing, recognisable vulnerabilities, and that policing organisations have made valiant attempts at responding to this individual form of vulnerability. In the next section, we expand the police vision of vulnerability to the ontological (universal human fragility), situational, and iatrogenic vulnerabilities of policing.

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Accounting for all Vulnerability By nature, policing encounters are, for the most part, individual encounters between criminal justice actors. The focus on a process of identifying and labelling individuals as vulnerable ignores or displaces the ontological, situational, and iatrogenic vulnerabilities that also inhabit these seemingly individual encounters. In this section, we focus on the three forms of vulnerability often ignored in policing and criminal justice: ontological, situational, and iatrogenic vulnerabilities.

Ontological or Universal Vulnerability Van Loon suggests that to be labelled vulnerable is to deny agency; in effect, declaring the individual incapable of becoming ‘… responsible (and self-actualising [or self-fulfilling]) citizens’ (van Loon 2008, 48). Here, vulnerability is exceptionalised as something ‘they’ experience. ‘We’, on the other hand, are invulnerable and with absolute autonomy to positively navigate dangers and avoid (too much) reliance on others. But we are all vulnerable to harm; it is in the very nature of being human that ontological vulnerability shapes our experiences. Gilson (2014) and Butler (2004) suggest that the universality of vulnerability presents a possibility. It is our reliance and dependence on others that makes us human and creates the conditions for us to work together to address problems we encounter. But it is also this interdependence on others that creates the conditions through which all human life is in a state of precariousness, where we are all susceptible to subordination, marginalisation, exclusion, and violence (Gilson 2014; Kottow 2003). It is our willingness to be open to others and to risk repudiation, disrespect, or even violence that creates the bonds between individuals that make social life possible. Human fragility and suffering are shared by all, and as such, vulnerability is universal. Despite the ubiquity of human fragility, legislation and policy only cater for those who have been assigned the label of vulnerable and for whom special consideration has been granted. Gilson (2014) and Levine (2004) suggest that the expanding field of recognised vulnerable groups encourages us to reconceptualise vulnerability as something more than difference and more than a negative experience. Instead of a special characteristic of specific types of people, vulnerability becomes a process that can be encountered by anyone in some situations.

Situational Vulnerability In addition to individual and ontological vulnerability, we face situational vulnerabilities as a consequence of the environments through which we pass (Gilson 2014). Our capacity to negotiate these environments is linked with our human fra-

Concepts

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gility and our individual characteristics. This layered conceptualisation of vulnerability aligns with the proposition that: … the individual is not vulnerable, but that some situations render some people situationally vulnerable (Luna 2009).

Situational vulnerability represents a lack of capacity to respond to external threats and disproportionate exposure to those external threats (Butler 2004; Chambers 1989; see also the early work of Skolnick 1966 on police constant exposure to danger). Situational vulnerability is not equally distributed because it reflects existing power relations, and the institutional cultures of criminal justice. Some people are more likely to experience the situational vulnerability of policing encounters (over-policing), while others experience situational vulnerability as an absence (under-policing). The decisions to act in particular ways, with particular interests in mind, are historically and politically driven. These structural-historical conditions have created a social, political, and economic legacy that disproportionately affects some people (many of whom are not recognised in lists of vulnerability) and impedes some people’s capacity to resolve the external threats of crime. Vulnerability is not guaranteed and cannot be read simply from a list of recognisable vulnerable people. Shifting from the individual to the situations and ‘ enables us to consider what Watts and Bohle (1993, 45) suggest are the ‘co-ordinates of vulnerability’. The co-ordinates of vulnerability are constituted by the external threats (exposure) to an individual’s safety and their (in)ability to cope with or resolve those threats (capacity and potentiality) (Watts and Bohle 1993). In this sense, vulnerability is a product of the harms caused (including their frequency and impact) minus the capacity to respond to those harms.

Previous victimisation or offending may prepare and mitigate individuals against the situational vulnerability of policing. Previous experience with the criminal justice system may, in fact, prepare individuals for the potentiality of vulnerability, and in turn, prepare them for navigating external threats by increasing their resilience in the face of known dangers. In contrast, even in the absence of individual vulnerability, lack of previous experience of the criminal justice system or policing may heighten the vulnerability experienced by individuals. This is best exemplified by a person with no victimisation or offending history who has been detained on a felony charge. Their lack of knowledge and understanding of what they will face once arrested means they are immediately incapacitated and have few skills to be resilient in the face of this new experience.

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The ‘co-ordinates’ of vulnerability in policing are not exceptional; they are the ‘bread and butter’ of frontline policing, even if they are not acknowledged in polices and standard operating procedures (SoPs). This is especially the case at key tipping points in the policing process such as arrest, detention, and interview. Responding to all forms of vulnerability requires us to turn our attention to the situational characteristics that make some people vulnerable.

Iatrogenic (or System-Generated) Vulnerability Situational vulnerabilities in the criminal justice system are a consequence of institutional arrangements and systems. Iatrogenic vulnerability refers to the way in which systems can create harm simply from ‘business as usual’. The concept of iatrogenic harm was initially developed to consider the ways in which medical errors and negligence can cause more harm than the original presenting issue. Criminal justice practices exemplify iatrogenic vulnerability in that the systems created to manage crime—such as imprisonment—are also instrumental in creating and extending the vulnerability of those that pass through the system (Anderson and Burris 2017). As we discuss in detail in ► Chaps. 6 and 7, some of the most obvious iatrogenic vulnerability is created during the arrest, detention, and questioning of suspects. While each of these processes are highly regulated and in some circumstances policing organisations are required to address the vulnerability of offenders as standard operating procedures, failure to identify vulnerability or to not address it appropriately can create iatrogenic harm. Death in custody epitomises this system-­generated harm. Put simply, if the suspect had not been detained, or if their vulnerability had been identified and addressed once detained, then a death in custody could have been averted. Iatrogenic vulnerability is not something that individual police officers are able to change. These are issues that are best addressed at the institutional level and by way of developing robust policies and practices that enable individual officers to identify vulnerability and make provisions to ensure that their vulnerability is not exacerbated. However, police officers are empowered to consider their actions in relation to the possibility of iatrogenic harm, especially as it relates to the use of discretion and diversionary approaches. When we consider vulnerability across the spectrum—from ontological to individual to situational and iatrogenic—it becomes clear that current approaches that solely address individual vulnerability by way of exceptional, siloed service enhancements may miss the various other ways in which people are vulnerable in their encounters with police. Vulnerability is everywhere and, yet, not easily or readily identifiable in the complex interpersonal exchanges of frontline policing

In Practice

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encounters. Even those recognised in law as vulnerable have no guarantee of being identified as such during the policing encounter. Those with unrecognisable experiences of vulnerability are further disadvantaged as they are divested of the r­ esources and capacities required to respond to the external threats of crime. By focusing on individual vulnerabilities, the ontological, situational, and iatrogenic vulnerabilities of the policing encounter are ignored. We suggest that moving upstream to the situations, structures, and processes of policing (rather than only on the downstream individual vulnerabilities and the bespoke and costly service enhancements) enables policing organisations to address all forms of vulnerability. This type of approach requires a universal precautions model such as those adopted in medical practice worldwide.

In Practice The emergence and subsequent study of the concept of vulnerability in health and bioethics offers an alternative vision of vulnerability, and the strategies best deployed to address it. The transferability of these approaches from health and bioethics to policing is still to be examined in practice. However, there are moments in policing when the duty of care that so often propels an individual into the policing profession (as with the health profession) can be harnessed to the goals of a universal precautions model (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2017; Raganella and White 2004). A universal precautions model, based on those adopted by health agencies across the world, starts from the assumption that all encounters are likely to be framed by what Gilson (2014) calls situated ontological vulnerability. This is the combination of the universal vulnerability all humans experience and the situational vulnerability rooted in an individual’s ‘brush with crime’. Universal precautions in the health context have been used since the advent of hand washing and are designed to bypass individual practitioner’s beliefs and attitudes by imposing various mandatory procedures irrespective of what the practitioner may or may not understand about the patient. For example, in the 1990s, health practitioners responded to human immunodeficiency virus (HIV)/ acquired immunodeficiency syndrome (AIDS) with a systematic change to patient care and standard operating procedures to assume all patients were potentially HIV positive, until proven otherwise (Leaver 1996). Similarly, addressing the vulnerability linked to policing requires a universal precautions model that begins with the assumption that everyone could be potentially vulnerable (Dysart-Gale 2006).

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Universal precautions in patient care did not alter the specialist care required by some patients who were HIV+ but it ensured that they were not marginalised. Likewise, universal precautions against vulnerability do not alter the support services necessary for vulnerable victims and offenders—particularly, young people. On the contrary, a universal precautions model, embedded at key points of the policing process, can address the presenting individual vulnerabilities and avert some of the ontological, situational, and iatrogenic vulnerability experienced by all victims and offenders. The potential for vulnerability should be assumed at the first point of contact with the police.

We argue elsewhere that policing encounters are ‘… more likely to be shaped by vulnerability than invulnerability’ (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2012, 283). As such, a universal precautions model must start with the assumption that vulnerability (rather than invulnerability) is likely to be present in any policing interaction even if the attending officer does not recognise or acknowledge that vulnerability. In this respect, it reduces police officer discretion over whose vulnerability counts and provides a vulnerability ‘safety net’ to catch those people who do not want to admit to their vulnerability or are not normally recognised as vulnerable. Such processes help ‘design out’ misidentification of vulnerability, correctly identify hidden forms or invisible vulnerabilities, and provide a better, more accurate picture of intersectional vulnerabilities. As a natural consequence, a universal precautions model addresses the ontological, individual, situational, and iatrogenic vulnerability experienced, which in turn helps to avoid the unnecessary or redundant allocation of bespoke and costly support mechanisms. Importantly, a side effect of implementing a universal precautions model is the development of police officers capable of engaging with complex interpersonal situations, building rapport with vulnerable victims and offenders, and transferring knowledge of vulnerability across different forms and types of vulnerability. And as Levine (2004) suggests in relation to social care, working with vulnerability as standard operating procedure allows officers to fulfil their goal of ‘doing something for their community’ and to feel more connected to those whose safety they manage. In the shift from individual pathology to situated ontological vulnerability (Gilson 2014), we suggest that the harms that present in policing can be mitigated through three inter-related strategies:

In Practice

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1. convert exceptional, siloed processes designed to address some actors’ vulnerability to standard operating procedures as a means to address all criminal justice actors’ vulnerability at key processual ‘tipping points’; 2. recruit for, and cultivate the underlying desire of many police officers to do something for the others; and 3. develop practice and cognitive skills that align with a police officer’s duty of care (Kittay 2011; Neyroud and Beckley 2012). The first strategy is a problem throughout policing organisations and is not simply limited to preparing police for vulnerability. However, as we suggest elsewhere (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2015), in the decades following the UK Macpherson Inquiry, policing organisations have continued an ‘add and stir’ approach to the increasing numbers of recognisable vulnerable people. With each new marginalised social group granted recognition by police as ‘special’, the mandated protocols and MOUs (Memoranda of Understanding) are duplicated and the required training increased. These special service enhancements are costly, divisive, and respond to vulnerability as if it were rare. In contrast, embedded learning and practice facilitates knowledge transfer across contexts of policing and avoids the costly mistakes of misidentification of vulnerability by frontline officers. With police and commentating scholars acknowledging that police dedicate a ‘substantial amount of their resources’ to work that some consider ‘only marginally related to the police mandate’ (Bittner 1967, 703), the remit of policing has changed and expanded (Millie and Herrington 2014). As a result, the required attributes of officers has shifted from considerations of height, weight, and agility to cognitive maturity, ethical reasoning, and interpersonal skills; albeit, agility remains a necessary skill for the physicality of policing. The police recruits filling the training positions at academies and universities in the twenty-first century are drawn to the profession for more than fast cars and powerful armoury. In our experience as police educators, wanting to ‘give back’ or to help others is the most common reason given by students for pursuing a career in policing. Recruiting for the desire to ‘give back’—along with strong relational skills—and valuing this standpoint in practice cultivates a duty of care that recognises the vulnerability of all those they encounter, and the pivotal role that they, as police, can have in shaping how this vulnerability is resolved or exacerbated. The police duty of care, enshrined in police oaths, aligns with Lloyd’s (2009, 92) concept of an ‘ethics of care’, which ‘… issues out of a common human experience of vulnerability, and particularly vulnerability to violence’. It is this ethical positioning that often brings individuals to police careers. It is also this type of ethics that facilitates the bonds between strangers at times of crisis (such as in the

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aftermath of terrorist attacks). Kittay (2011, 52) suggests that ‘… being able to give and receive care is a source of dignity …’ for both recipient and provider, and is instrumental to human interdependency (Corbo Crehan 2017). Each of these three strategies—universal precautions, recruitment and cultivation of the right officers, and embedding policy and practice in the police duty of care—is linked to what Critchlow (2015) conceptualises as ‘person-centred policing’. Person-centred policing focuses on the individual whom an officer encounters. It addresses their concerns rather than the vulnerability category they ‘fall within’ (Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Regulation 2005, s.24). This approach aligns with customer service and procedural justice principles, which move beyond the perfunctory application of the law to include more comprehensive strategies of engagement such as two-way communication, respect for an individual’s circumstances (and their understanding of the situation), appropriate service enhancements where necessary, and the fair and neutral application of the law (Tyler 2003). The advantages of a universal precautions model are best illustrated when the focus is on the ‘tipping points’ in policing practice rather than the vulnerability attributes of individuals encountering the police. In Parts 2 and 3 of this book, we focus in on various ‘tipping points’ to illustrate both our conceptualisation of vulnerability and the application of a universal precautions model to policing vulnerability.

A View from the Frontline

To ‘deal’ with a citizen’s vulnerability, the police must first be able to understand who they are dealing with. For the police to appreciate a citizen’s circumstances, this means engaging in one-to-one conversation. This exchange is challenged when the person not only comes from another language background, but is also deaf (Skinner 2020). There are deaf people all around the world. Many define themselves as a linguistic-cultural minority, who see and experience the world from a different perspective. It is rare for public and private services to consider how their services can properly serve people who are deaf and use a signed language. This is especially true of the police. For example, what happens when a suspect at a scene of arrest turns out to be deaf? How does a police officer explain the grounds for their arrest? What happens when the deaf person is brought into (continued)

In Practice

(continued) custody? How is their well-being considered before being checked into custody? What is a deaf victim to do when they need to report an incident of hate crime or is in distress? These questions highlight the gap that exists and how police services can be an underlying cause to someone’s vulnerability. Returning to the arrest scenario, a typical response may be for the officer to explain their decision by encouraging the citizen to read their lips. Lipreading is a hazardous exercise and prone to misunderstanding. But then, how is the deaf citizen able to make themselves understood? How can the deaf citizen explain their need? One approach may be to exchange written messages. In a heated context, the ability to exchange written notes may not be practical or sensible. In a less confrontational setting, the decision to pass written notes back and forth may be a valid solution. However, the exchange of notes does not allow an actual communication where the person can explain their concerns. For example, a deaf victim can be mistakenly arrested because officers accepted the version told by those who can hear (Mathias 2015). A further issue with written notes is the assumption that the deaf person is a fluent bilingual. National signed languages do not share the same vocabulary or grammar as their national spoken/written language counterpart. A deaf person who is fluent in a national signed language (e.g., Australian Signed Language1) will not always be a competent bilingual, which means being competent in a national spoken language (e.g., English in its written form). The difficulty presented in this vignette is how the police do not understand what it means to be deaf or how to make standard police services or procedures equitable and meaningful to a signed language user. Sourcing a trained interpreter may be the default procedure. An interpreter offers a temporary and imperfect solution to communication difficulties. In all interpreter-mediated situations, the process of communicating means another person’s message becomes contaminated with the interpreter’s thoughts. The subject of dealing with vulnerabilities should be seen as a calling for the police to engage in dialogue with the deaf communities and see this as a process that can eventually benefit a wider population. Rob Skinner Centre for Translation & Interpreting Studies • Skinner, R. (2020). Approximately There—Positioning video-mediated interpreting in frontline police services. Heriot-Watt University.

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Conclusion As we have seen in this year of pandemic and protest, vulnerability permeates all interactions in policing and in criminal justice (Eitle and Turner 2002; Graham 2012; Green 2011; Pease 2001). Criminal justice practitioners as well as offenders, victims, and witnesses are vulnerable as a consequence of these interactions. It is therefore perplexing that only a select few vulnerable people are safeguarded against harm in law and policy (Asquith and Bartkowiak-Théron 2012, 2017). It is even more puzzling given that any mistake in identifying and addressing ­vulnerability can come at catastrophic individual, social, and financial costs, including individual police officers and their police organisation as a whole. The financial aftermaths are only a facet of these consequences, as the costs extend to damage to familial and community networks that underpin the work of the police. Loss of productivity due to injury, ill-health and psychological damage are also considerable negative by-products of any misidentification of vulnerability (Paton 2006). Furthermore, the dismissal of cases at court or the secondary trauma of victims due to mismanaged policing processes unavoidably ends up in a lack of trust and confidence in the police, further inhibiting police to effectively manage law and order. Adding new categories to existing recognisable groups is increasingly ill-suited, in policy and practice, to the task of addressing vulnerability systematically. An approach that reconstructs vulnerability as a universal human potential for harm avoids attributes automatically assumed from group identity. Focusing on the potential for vulnerability at various process ‘tipping points’ (police caution, custody reception, interviewing, and detention) offers us a more effective way to comprehend and therefore respond to individual, ontological, situational, and iatrogenic vulnerabilities. Vulnerability exceeds the normative categorisation of diversity or difference (Herring and Henderson 2011). Diverse communities may lack trust in policing services. However, members of these communities may not meet vulnerability on an equal footing. One’s vulnerability depends on the circumstances and the situational context of the policing encounter. The policing process is replete with socio-­ historic circumstances that give rise to vulnerability. Repudiating the existence of vulnerability except for those that are recognised and recognisable in policy and practice ignores trauma, human fragility, and the situational and iatrogenic vulnerabilities created by the criminal justice system itself (Asquith et al. 2016).

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Our approach is a departure from those that exceptionalise vulnerability as a specific fixed attribute. The precariousness, or the occasional volatile nature, of policing encounters means that individual, universal, and situational co-ordinates may sometimes not be ‘read’ directly from the bodies of offenders, witness, victims, or practitioners. Along the same vein, ‘difference’ cannot be a marker for vulnerability. A universal precaution model addresses universal human precariousness present in policing and offers the space from which a policing duty of care can be cultivated.

Activities 1. Consider the layers of vulnerability you experience. Start with the ontological vulnerabilities that puts your fragile body at risk (e.g., do you participate in high risk activities such as contact sport, or skydiving?). Then move onto your individual vulnerabilities, such as age, gender, race, ability, citizen status, etc.). Then consider the situational vulnerabilities that you (may) experience as a police officer. Finally, consider some of the system-generated harms you may encounter as a police officer. 2. After completing your personal vulnerability map, do the same for a person in your life (such as family member, friend, and colleague) who has an apparent vulnerability. 3. Consider the differences between these two experiences, and consider what would be some of the ‘tipping points’ where your own and your peer’s vulnerability may be exacerbated, or alternatively, addressed.

Readings and Resources Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N.  L. (2017). Conceptual divides and practice synergies in law enforcement and public health: Some lessons from policing vulnerability in Australia. Policing and Society, 27(3), 276–288. Brown, K. (2011). ‘Vulnerability’: Handle with care. Ethics and Social Welfare, 5(3), 313– 320. Herring, C., & Henderson, L. (2011). From affirmative action to diversity: Toward a critical diversity perspective. Critical Sociology, 38(5), 629–643. Luna, F. (2009). Elucidating the concept of vulnerability: Layers not labels. International Journal of Feminist Approaches to Bioethics, 2(1), 121–139.

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Bibliography Anderson, E., & Burris, S. (2017). Policing and public health: Not quite the right analogy. Policing and Society, 27(3), 300–313. Asquith, N.  L. (2012). Vulnerability and the art of complaint making. In I.  Bartkowiak-­ Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 147–162). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Asquith, N.  L., & Bartkowiak-Théron, I. (2012). Vulnerability and diversity in policing. In I. Bartkowiak-Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 3–9). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Asquith, N.  L., & Bartkowiak-Théron, I. (2017). Police as public health interventionists. In N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, & K. Roberts (Eds.), Policing encounters with vulnerability (pp. 145–170). London: Palgrave. Asquith, N. L., Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Roberts, K. (2016). Guest editorial: Vulnerability and the criminal justice system. Journal of Criminological Research, Policy and Practice, 2(3), 161–163. Baldry, E. (2014). Complex needs and the justice system. In C. Chamberlain, G. Johnson, & C. Robinson (Eds.), Homelessness in Australia: An introduction (pp. 196–212). Sydney: UNSW Press. Baldry, E., Dowse, L., McCausland, R., & Clarence, M. (2012). Lifecourse institutional costs of homelessness for vulnerable groups. Canberra: Commonwealth of Australia. Baldry, E., Clarence, M., Dowse, L., & Trollor, J. (2013). Reducing vulnerability to harm in adults with cognitive disabilities in the Australian criminal justice system. Journal of Policy and Practice in Intellectual Disabilities, 10(3), 222–229. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2012a). Vulnerable people policing: A preparatory framework for operationalising vulnerability. In I. Bartkowiak-Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 278–292). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2015). Policing diversity and vulnerability in the post-Macpherson era: Unintended consequences and missed opportunities. Policing: A Journal of Policy and Practice, 9(1), 89–100. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N.  L. (2017). Conceptual divides and practice synergies in law enforcement and public health: Some lessons from policing vulnerability in Australia. Policing and Society, 27(3), 276–288. Bittner, E. (1967). Police discretion in emergency apprehension of mentally ill persons. Social Problems, 14(3), 278–279. Brown, K. (2015). Vulnerability and young people: Care and social control in policy and practice. Bristol: Policy Press. Butler, J. (2004). Precarious lives: The powers of mourning and violence. London: Verso Books. Chambers, R. (1989). Vulnerability, coping and policy. Institute of Development Studies Bulletin, 20(2), 1–7. College of Policing. (2015). College of policing analysis: Estimating demand on the police service. Retrieved July 9, 2020, from www.college.police.uk/News/College-­news/ Documents/Demand%20Report%2023_1_15_noBleed.pdf. Corbo Crehan, A. (2017). Some implications of the moral vulnerability of police. In N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, & K. A. Roberts (Eds.), Policing encounters with vulnerability (pp. 71–86). London: Palgrave.

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Critchlow, R. (2015, December 9–10). Critical issues in the field. Paper presented at Policing Vulnerability: Challenges and Solutions Symposium, Western Sydney University, Sydney, NSW. Cummins, I. (2007). Boats against the current: Vulnerable adults in police custody. Journal of Adult Protection, 9(1), 15–24. Cunneen, C., & Porter, A. (2017). Indigenous peoples and criminal justice in Australia. In A. Deckert & R. Sarre (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of Australian and New Zealand criminology, crime and justice (pp. 667–682). Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Dwyer, A. (2014). ‘We’re not like these weird feather boa-covered AIDS-spreading monsters’: How LGBT young people and service providers think riskiness informs LGBT youth-police interactions. Critical Criminology, 22(1), 65–79. Dysart-Gale, D. (2006). Cultural sensitivity beyond ethnicity: A universal precautions model. Internet Journal of Allied Health Sciences and Practice, 4(1), 4. Eitle, D., & Turner, R. J. (2002). Exposure to community violence and young adult crime: The effects of witnessing violence, traumatic victimization, and other stressful life events. Journal of Research in Crime and Delinquency, 39(2), 214–237. Gilson, E. (2014). The ethics of vulnerability: A feminist analysis of social life and practice. New York: Routledge. Graham, H. (2012). The path forward: Policing, diversion and desistance. In I. Bartkowiak-­ Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 262–277). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Green, S. (2011). Crime, victimisation and vulnerability. In S. Walklate (Ed.), Handbook of victims and victimology (pp. 91–118). London: Routledge. Hage, G. (2006, September 28–29). Everyday exterminabilities. Keynote Paper to the Everyday Multiculturalism Conference, Macquarie University, Sydney, NSW. Herring, C., & Henderson, L. (2011). From affirmative action to diversity: Toward a critical diversity perspective. Critical Sociology, 38(5), 629–643. Hollomotz, A. (2009). Beyond ‘vulnerability’: An ecological model approach to conceptualizing risk of sexual violence against people with learning difficulties. British Journal of Social Work, 39(1), 99–112. Kittay, E. F. (2011). The ethics of care, dependence, and disability. Ratio Juris, 24(1), 49–58. Kottow, M. H. (2003). The vulnerable and the susceptible. Bioethics, 17(5–6), 460–471. Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Act 2002. (2005). (New South Wales, Australia). Leaver, M. (1996). Universal precautions to become standard: Infection control new brief. The Australian Journal of Nursing Practice, Scholarship and Research, 3(1), 14. Levine, C. (2004). The concept of vulnerability in disaster research. Journal of Traumatic Stress, 17(5), 395–402. Lloyd, M. (2009). Towards a cultural politics of vulnerability: Precarious lives and ungrievable deaths. In T. Carver & S. A. Chambers (Eds.), Judith Butler’s precarious politics: Critical encounters (pp. 92–105). London: Routledge. Luna, F. (2009). Elucidating the concept of vulnerability: Layers not labels. International Journal of Feminist Approaches to Bioethics, 2(1), 121–139. Lurigio, A. J., & Swartz, J. A. (2000). Changing the contours of the criminal justice system to meet the needs of persons with serious mental illness. In National Institute of Justice (Ed.), NIJ 2000 series: Policies, processes, and decisions of the criminal justice system (Vol. 3, pp. 45–108). Washington, DC: National Institute of Justice.

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Mason-Bish, H. (2013). Conceptual issues in the construction of disability hate crime. In A. Roulstone & H. Mason-Bish (Eds.), Disability, hate crime and violence (pp. 11–24). London & New York: Routledge. Mathias, C. (2015, October 30). Deaf Woman to get $750,000 for Hellish Ordeal with NYPD. Huffpost. Retrieved July 6, 2020, from https://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/ deaf-­woman-­nypd-­lawsuit-­settlement_n_5630da6ce4b00aa54a4bfef1?ri18n=true. Millie, A., & Herrington, V. (2014). How wide or narrow should the police’s remit be? Public Safety Leadership Research Focus, 2(4), 1–10. Misztal, B. (2011). The challenges of vulnerability: In search of strategies for a less vulnerable social life. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Neyroud, P., & Beckley, A. (2012). Policing, ethics and human rights. London: Routledge. Oxford English Dictionary Online. (2020). Vulnerability. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from www.oed.com/view/Entry/224872. Paton, D. (2006). Critical incident stress risk in police officers: Managing resilience and vulnerability. Traumatology, 12(3), 198–206. Pease, K. (2001). Distributive justice and crime. European Journal of Criminal Policy and Research, 9(4), 413–425. Prevention Institute. (2020). THRIVE: Tool for health & resilience in vulnerable environments. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://www.preventioninstitute.org/tools/ thrive-­tool-­health-­resilience-­vulnerable-­environments. Raganella, A. J., & White, M. D. (2004). Race, gender, and the motivation for becoming a police officer: Implications for building a representative police department. Journal of Criminal Justice, 32(6), 501–513. Roulstone, A., & Sadique, K. (2012). Vulnerable to misinterpretation: Disabled people, ‘vulnerability’, and hate crime. In A.  Roulstone & H.  Mason-Bish (Eds.), Disability, hate crime and violence (pp. 25–39). London: Routledge. Rowe, M. (2007). Introduction: Policing and racism in the limelight—The politics and context of the Lawrence report. In M. Rowe (Ed.), Policing beyond Macpherson: Issues in policing, race and society (pp. xi–xxiv). Cullompton: Willan. Skinner, R. (2020). Approximately there—Positioning video-mediated interpreting in frontline police services. Edinburgh: Heriot-Watt University. Skolnick, J. (1966). Justice without trial: Law enforcement in democratic society. Quid Pro Books (Fourth Edition, 2011). Thorneycroft, R. (2017). Problematising and reconceptualising ‘vulnerability’ in the context of disablist violence. In N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, & K. Roberts (Eds.), Policing encounters with vulnerability (pp. 27–45). London: Palgrave. Turner, B. (2006). Vulnerability and human rights. Pennsylvania: University of Pennsylvania Press. Tyler, T. R. (2003). Procedural justice, legitimacy, and the effective rule of the law. Crime and Justice, 30, 283–357. Van Loon, J. (2008). Governmentality and the subpolitics of teenage sexual risk behaviour. In A. Petersen & I. Wilkinson (Eds.), Health, risk and vulnerability (pp. 48–65). London: Routledge. Watts, M.  J., & Bohle, H.  G. (1993). The space of vulnerability: The causal structure of hunger and famine. Progress in Human Geography, 17(1), 43–67. Zakrison, T. L., Hamel, P. A., & Hwang, S. W. (2004). Homeless people’s trust and interactions with police and paramedics. Journal of Urban Health: Bulletin of the New  York Academy of Medicine, 81(4), 596–605.

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Politics, Policies, and Practices of Vulnerable People Policing

Introduction The ‘wicked issue’ (Fleming and Wood 2006) of vulnerability in policing has shaped policing approaches for far longer than there has been policies and practice documents guiding police in their work. As early as 1953, Westley was highlighting the issues of police use of violence, and its disproportionate impact on marginalised and vulnerable communities. Police officers have long been required to address vulnerability at the frontline, often without any guidance. However, as crime rate drop across western democracies (Tseloni et  al. 2010)—especially under COVID-­19 lockdowns—evidence of the scope of vulnerability in policing is beginning to emerge. In their review of demands for service, the UK College of Policing (2015, 16) has found that non-crime incidents relating to vulnerability and ‘safeguarding’ constitute 84% of all calls for service, and that ‘…these incidents are likely to consume more resource effort as they can be more complex, many involving combined agency responses’. What happens on the frontline is shaped and informed by a cascade of guiding documents ranging from legislation, and mission and strategic plans, through to policies. Sitting alongside these documents is an array of programmes, projects, and standard operating procedures (SoPs), which aim to provide context and specific guidance on the operationalisation of vulnerability. Yet none of these would be possible without political leadership in prioritising vulnerability and assigning appropriate funding to address ‘wicked issues’. In this chapter, we autopsy a variety © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_3

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of institutional approaches in order to illustrate the contested ground and the politics of policing vulnerability.

Concepts As with any modern institution, the work of police is mandated via a range of plans, mission statements, standard operating practices, and dedicated projects. At the global level, their work is informed by international declarations, conventions, and protocols, such as the Universal Declaration of Human Rights 1948, Optional Protocol to the United Nations Convention against Torture and other Cruel, Inhuman or Degrading Treatment or Punishment 2003, United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child 1989, the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities 2007, and the International Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Racial Discrimination 1965. These international protocols and conventions direct national and state governments to enact legislation and apply policies and practices that meet these benchmarks. These instruments are essential in framing policing vulnerability, as they prompt governments and their policing services to consider how basic human rights intersect with policing practices that, by their very nature, human rights. Yet, what warrants noting is that the implementation of these conventions and protocols is shaped by wider political factors. If the governments responsible for allocating funding and resources to police are not cognisant of the frontline issues in addressing vulnerability, strategic plans are unlikely to account for this work. Similarly, what is prioritised in practice must first be prioritised in top level strategic plans. If vulnerability is not considered at the highest level of decision making, its operationalisation in the field is likely to be ad hoc and without the weight of executive direction needed to compel frontline workers to act appropriately.

The politics of vulnerability are often shrouded in rhetoric about ‘level playing fields’ and needing to support people to pull themselves ‘up by their bootstraps’. Vulnerability—and the attendant, marginalisation—is most often framed in political discourse as a failing of individuals, which requires strategies to strengthen an individual’s resilience. Equality of opportunity is the most that can be expected from such an approach to vulnerability. While it is important to acknowledge individual vulnerability and focus on responding to the individual needs of vulnerable people, governments and their agencies should also comprehend the social,

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s­ ituational, and iatrogenic conditions that generate vulnerability irrespective of the ‘bootstrapping’ by individuals. At various times over the last 30 years, governments have been compelled to consider the wider contexts of vulnerability. The Stephen Lawrence inquiry (Macpherson 1999) into the London Metropolitan Police Service’s handling of the murder of Stephen Lawrence in 1993 was one of the first times that institutional practices were considered relevant. Beyond the racist attitudes of the offenders and some of the police officers charged with investigating Stephen’s murder, the Macpherson Inquiry identified that the service itself was institutionally racist (Macpherson 1999). Looking beyond the immediate, individual vulnerability of Stephen and his friend, Duwayne Brooks, the inquiry sought to unravel the ways in which the organisation created iatrogenic harms to Stephen’s family in the aftermath of the lethal attack, and to all Black and Minority Ethnic (BAME) victims and offenders. This inquiry and its 70 recommendations sparked a series of institutional reforms, which were aimed at reducing the system-generated vulnerability adhered to policing in the UK. Yet, in the 20-year review of the Macpherson recommendations, Cohen (2019) found that little had changed for BAME victims and offenders. In fact, the rates of ‘stop and search’ incidents involving BAME residents had increased in the intervening years. While the London Metropolitan Police Service and other UK policing services had done much to change the policy and practice contexts of policing BAME residents, the desired goals were forestalled (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2015). Despite implementing strategies to increase the recruitment and retention of BAME officers—in the hope of changing the police culture within the organisation—and changing the requirements of ‘stop and search’ powers, along with institutional reforms such as the creation of the Independent Police Complaints Commission, BAME residents continue to have an estranged relationship with their police (Cohen 2019; Grieve 2009; Clements and Jones 2009; Griffiths 2009). The case of Stephen Lawrence and the institutional responses to the Macpherson Inquiry highlight the complexity in addressing vulnerability in policing. Individualised strategies alone cannot resolve the situational and iatrogenic causes of vulnerability. Nor can uncritical institutional responses address the needs of individuals who are vulnerabilised by way of policing. As with elsewhere, UK policing services have embraced the rhetoric of evidence-based policing; however, what constitutes ‘evidence’ and what ‘evidence’ is used to develop policies and practices is critical to the outcomes. For example, in relation to ‘hot-spot’ policing—itself a posterchild for evidence-based practice—often the ‘evidence’ used is the flawed policing data collected before more robust ‘evidence’ was necessary to inform practice (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2012a).

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If a vulnerable community was over-policed, in part due to institutional racism, then the evidence-based practices developed out of this data are going to sustain, rather than disrupt, the unequal application of policing (Nolan 2015; Brown et al. 2018). In applying focussed policing to those vulnerable communities identified as ‘hot-spots’, the evidence of heightened criminality is strengthened. More policing resources in one hot spot will result in more evidence of criminality, which then justifies even more focussed policing on those communities. Breaking this pattern of replication requires policing services to look beyond the ‘dirty data’ (Richardson et al. 2019) they currently hold, and begin afresh, with a new image of what harms are created in vulnerable communities (Degeling and Berendt 2018; Ratcliffe 2015). This necessarily requires policing services to engage with vulnerable communities, who are the experts on their own vulnerability (see Chap. 5 for further discussion of this point; Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2012a). Starting afresh, with a ‘clean slate’ will not only assist in breaking this cycle of over-­policing, but may also lead to alternative, non-policing strategies that address the causes of criminality rather than the symptoms. A final conceptual issue to consider in relation to the policies and practices guiding the work of police in relation to vulnerable people is that of silos. As noted in Chap. 8, the battle over policing resources is often framed by a ‘competition of suffering’ (Mason-Bish 2013). Who gets to be labelled ‘vulnerable’ and the politics and consequences of such as label are disputed. Some jurisdictions recognise only a small group of people as vulnerable (such as NSW Police Force, discussed below), while others have a ‘shopping list’, such as the Queensland Police Service (2020) that recognises 14 vulnerability attributes. Importantly, Queensland Police also reframe the issues of vulnerability in terms of the ‘circumstances which constitute a vulnerability, disability or cultural need’, including immaturity (either in terms of age or development), infirmity (including early dementia or disease), illiteracy or limited education, inability or limited ability to speak or understand the English language, chronic alcoholism and drug dependence, and persons with impaired capacity. Framing vulnerability as circumstances and situations means that the label of ‘vulnerable’ is less important than the situations that have created the vulnerability (Howes et al. 2017). Vocal and well-resourced vulnerable communities are most capable of getting their concerns on the agenda, often to the detriment of less vocal vulnerable communities.

This competition for policing resources has most commonly been ‘won’ by racial and ethnic communities, who have long advocated for alternative policing ap-

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proaches, including the provision of interpreters for those who do not speak the national language or setting quotas for the recruitment of BAME/CALD/PoC police recruits. The ground broken by ethnic minority communities has provided a template of engagement and policy/practice innovation that is replicated with each newly emerging vulnerable community. However, in other communities, vulnerability is assumed, and strategies are developed in a form of paternalism that strips away the agency and autonomy of vulnerable people. This is most obvious in the case of policing strategies aimed at ‘safeguarding’ children and disabled and older people. Their vulnerability is archetypical, and often policing organisations act without engaging at all. The UK’s ‘safeguarding’ approach mandates the involvement of various government and non-government services (including the police) in the lives of people assumed to be at risk, particularly due to age and/or cognitive and physical disabilities. While the rhetoric of these approaches is to empower vulnerable people to ‘live free from abuse, harm and neglect’ (Care Quality Commission 2019), often disjointed interagency collaboration and austerity measures means that their needs are minimised, dismissed, or simply not addressed (Ford et al. 2020). Ford et al. found that while police consistently identify and respond to vulnerability—perhaps as a way to deflect the work necessary to respond to vulnerable people’s needs onto other services—their referrals to those social services are often go unheeded. With each new vulnerability attribute recognised by police, bespoke, targeted policies and practices are developed, which adds tangential pathways to the institutional response (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2019a). These silos— race/ethnicity, sexuality, gender, disability, etc.—are perceived independently of each other, without consideration of intersectional experiences (such as an Indigenous person with disability, or a transgender woman who is a refugee). In practice, these bespoke strategies are replicated in silos despite having similar underlying principles and necessary responses (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2019a). This duplication of legislation, policies, practices, and SoPs not only adds to the voluminous knowledge officers must retain and apply, but also duplicates the costs associated with responding to each individual vulnerability attribute (Bartkowiak-­Théron et al. 2017; Howes et al. 2017). It is our contention that much of this duplication can be minimised by a universal precautions approach that assumes all policing encounters with the public may be informed by vulnerability (Bartkowiak-­Théron and Asquith 2012b, 2017). Addressing vulnerability at the level of institutional practices, rather than the needs of individual people or communities, also ensures that the needs of less-vocal vulnerable communities can be addressed even in the absence of formal engagement strategies with those communities.

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In Practice How vulnerability is addressed in policing varies considerably between jurisdictions. In some jurisdictions, legislation mandates police action in relation to vulnerability, as is the case in the UK with their Care Act 2014 and the Safeguarding Vulnerable Groups Act 2006, or the Minnesota Vulnerable Adults Act 1980. These over-arching approaches to vulnerability seek to consolidate the issues and to link the work of various government departments in addressing vulnerability. In the case of the UK Care Act 2014, the legislation enabled the creation of the Independent Safeguarding Authority (later merged with the Criminal Records Bureau to create the Disclosure and Barring Service), which oversees the accreditation of practitioners who work with vulnerable people. It also created a framework for local authorities to address vulnerability, including: • • • •

Leading multi-agency local collaborations Establishing Safeguarding Adults Boards Conducting Safeguarding Adults Reviews, and Coordinating independent advocates for vulnerable people

While peak organisations representing vulnerable people are often integrated into state responses, rarely do vulnerable adults have a say in these responses. Paternalism, especially for young, old, and disabled people,1 often informs the actions taken to address their needs (Brown 2003; Fyson and Kitson 2010; Thomas and Buckmaster 2010). The lack of voice for vulnerable people in these government responses raises concerns about the way that legislation, policy, and practice aimed at resolving their vulnerability creates additional vulnerability, especially in restricting the agency of those in receipt of support (Buchanan 2008; MIND 2017; Pring 2020). Conversely, in Australian jurisdictions, such as New South Wales and Queensland, vulnerability is considered by way of their policing Acts, where specific provisions have been inserted to direct police actions in relation to vulnerable people. An example of this is Division 3, Clause 27 of the NSW Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Regulation 2016 where it states that:

 The term, ‘disabled people’ is used throughout this book, despite some people preferring the term of ‘person with disability’. ‘Disabled people’ is used deliberately as it foregrounds that the person is disabled by society. 1

In Practice

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…a vulnerable person is a reference to a person who falls within one or more of the following categories: (a) (b) (c) (d) (e)

children, persons who have impaired intellectual functioning, persons who have impaired physical functioning, persons who are Aboriginal persons or Torres Strait Islanders, persons who are of non-English speaking background,

but does not include a person whom the custody manager reasonably believes is not a person falling within any of those categories. Note: if a person falls within more than one of the above categories, each provision of this Division relating to any category within which the person falls applies in relation to the person.

As we have noted elsewhere (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2019a; Howes et al. 2017), this type of approach is problematic in terms of limiting the vulnerability label to a few select people, framing vulnerability as something one ‘falls’ into, and replicating the required steps for each recognised attribute, without guidance as to which comes first. Do police address the youthfulness of the offender first, then their indigeneity? Or does disability trump language proficiency? And what if mandated police actions for one attribute exacerbates the situational vulnerability linked to another? At least, in some jurisdictions, vulnerability is addressed at the level of legislation. Enacting legislation—rather than relying on ad hoc policies—is a powerful symbolic act that demonstrates a government’s desire to address vulnerability. When framed, as in the case of the UK Care Act 2014, as a whole-of-government response it deepens that symbolic message. Unlike legislation, however, policies and practice documents can be changed quickly and easily and may be more responsive to changing perceptions of vulnerability (and who is vulnerable). As in most jurisdictions, institutional guidance in working with vulnerable people in New South Wales, for example, is determined by a cascade of plans, statements, and SoPs. As can be seen in Fig. 3.1, the actions of NSW Police Force officers are framed by the Results Management Framework. At the top of this decision tree are the priorities set by the government and relevant ministers. It is at this point that responses to vulnerability may be dismissed, ignored, or if considered, under-funded. Once prioritised by the government, the issue of vulnerability must then traverse multiple layers of decision making, including the allocation of funding and resources. At the operationalisation level, issues such as vulnerability must be considered in light of not only the policing priorities established at the national level—in collaboration with other policing services and the Australia New

3  Politics, Policies, and Practices of Vulnerable People Policing

Fig. 3.1  Results Management Framework (adapted from NSW Police Force 2019)

NSW PREMIER & STATE PRIORITIES

NSWPF STATEMENT OF STRATEGIC INTENT

NSW BUDGET PROGRAMS

AUSTRALIAN & NEW ZEALAND POLICING PRIORITIES

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NSWPF COMMAND BUSINESS PLAN

COMPASS

NSWPF STRATEGIC PLANS, LEGISLATION & POLICIES

NSWPF INDIVIDUAL OFFICERS

Zealand Policing Advisory Agency—but also the monitoring processes facilitated by COMPASS. The Command Performance Accountability System (COMPASS) is ‘…an accountability forum that contributes to the assessment and improvement of corporate performance, including crime reduction’ (NSW Police Force 2011b). While vulnerability does not rate a mention at the higher levels of the Results Management Framework, at the level of their Corporate Plan (NSWPF 2016), issues of vulnerability are considered under the Community and Partners priority area. In that priority item, ‘Protect the Vulnerable’ requires the police to:

In Practice

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• Improve criminal justice and interagency responses to vulnerable people • Work with youth to enhance relationships, prevent and reduce crime, and promote a safer community • Contribute to interagency strategies concerning humanitarian resettlement And that the key indicators of achieving this strategic intervention are: • Repeat juvenile/young person victims ≤ 2015–2016 • Local partnerships developed with all NSW settlement service providers This framing of vulnerability warrants unpacking. In the first instance, vulnerability is only discussed in relation to Community and Partners priorities. It is not considered anywhere else in the Corporate Plan (NSWPF 2016) despite covering areas such as crime, public safety, people, systems, and leadership. This is another form of siloing. Unlike siloing between vulnerable groups, this type of siloing is much more problematic as it frames the policy and practice issues in relation to vulnerability as simply a matter of community engagement. It also frames vulnerability as only relating to young people and refugees who have been newly resettled in the community and sets progress indicators only in relation to these populations. The top-level strategy for Community and Partners, ‘improve criminal justice and interagency responses to vulnerable people’, requires much more than simply engaging with vulnerable communities, and addressing the vulnerability of young people and newly arrived refugees. It also requires consideration of how vulnerability shapes Crime Priorities, for example, to ‘prevent and reduce violent and property crime’, ‘enhance investigations and intelligence capacity’, and ‘prevent and reduce domestic violence’, and Public Safety priorities such as ‘strengthen public order, emergency management and counter-terrorism prevention, preparedness, response, and recovery’. People and Systems priorities are also critical in addressing vulnerability yet are not considered in terms of needing to ‘foster a respectful, equitable, diverse and inclusive workforce reflective of our community’, ‘prioritise safe workplaces, safe people and safe operations’, or ‘implement more effective and efficient internal processes’. The focus here is on NSW Police Force; yet the issues of prioritising and planning for vulnerability are largely consistent across jurisdictions. The same pattern of siloing vulnerability to specific populations and/or specific priority or strategic areas is replicated across jurisdictions, irrespective of the legislative and policy context. One exception to this siloing of vulnerability is the Crime Plan created by the City of London in conjunction with the London Metropolitan Police Service (Greater London Authority 2017). Unlike the NSW Police Force Corporate Plan

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that mentions vulnerability only three times, the Met’s plan mentions vulnerability and vulnerable people 65 times, with an overall guiding principle that: Wherever you live in the capital, and whatever your background, you should be able to expect the same high-quality service from the MPS.  Getting the basics right to deliver this universal service is at the heart of this Plan. These basics are essential: making communities safer, responding to and preventing crime; building trust and confidence; and bring criminals to justice… But as essential as they are, we must go further to protect the most vulnerable in our society. (Greater London Authority 2017, 24)

Additionally, the Met have identified four key priority areas, three of which relate directly to vulnerability (keeping children and young people safe, tackling violence against women and girls, and tackling hate crime) (London Metropolitan Police Service 2017). Whether the result of the safeguarding legislation in the UK, or the cultural context of policing in London, vulnerability in this jurisdiction is core business, and accounted for at all levels of institutional planning and prioritising. A similar wraparound response to vulnerability is operationalised by Police Scotland. In their guiding document, Serving a Changing Scotland: Creating capacity to improve (2017a), vulnerability is framed as a top-level priority and is considered throughout its plan for 2017–2020. This work on managing vulnerability in policing is also framed by Scotland’s National Action Plan for Human Rights (2014). In framing their work through the lens of human rights, Police Scotland place vulnerability and vulnerable people at the centre of their work. Further, in its Code of Ethics (Police Scotland 2020a) for serving officer, Police Scotland also require their officers to commit to four principles (integrity, fairness, respect, and human rights), each linked to the policing of vulnerable communities. In particular, police officers are required to: Fairness: …promote a positive wellbeing within the community and service and ensure that all people have fair and equal access to police services according to their needs. Respect: …treat all people, including detained people, in a humane and dignified manner. Human Rights: … investigate crimes objectively and be sensitive to the particular needs of affected individuals…

This human rights framing of police work is increasingly dominant in democratic societies. For example, Victoria Police in Australia similarly link their work to the Victorian Charter of Human Rights and Responsibilities 2006. However, it must be remembered, as noted at the outset of this chapter, that grand commitments to

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overarching statements are purely symbolic if they are not operationalised in guiding documents such as strategic plans, policies and SoPs. In the case of Victoria Police, while they have made commitments to human rights protocols, when their policies and practices are closely parsed, the needs of vulnerable people are truncated in a similar way to those of NSW Police Force. In the case of Police Scotland, however, the flow from international conventions and protocols through to guidance documents is clearly articulated. From top-level mission statements down to applied practice documents, Police Scotland have integrated the needs of vulnerable people across all activities. For example, they have created a vulnerable persons database and policies relating to safeguarding children and adults, vulnerable missing people, vulnerable people’s access to information (about their case, and their inclusion of the vulnerable persons database), and vulnerable detainees. Additionally, they have created bespoke campaigns around vulnerability and road safety, deception and fraud, and ‘cuckooing’ (which relates to the practice of drug dealers taking over the home of a vulnerable person in order to use it as a base for distribution). In conjunction with local businesses, Police Scotland and the I am Me project has also created a network of Keep Safe locations, which aim to provide ‘…support and assistance to anyone feeling lost, vulnerable, frightened or who has become a victim of crime. This includes elderly, disabled and vulnerable people’ (Police Scotland 2017b). Keep Safe was initiated as a response to widespread but under-reported disablist hate crime, but its operationalisation captures all vulnerable people. Keep Safe places are required provide signage that they are a safe place, and to comply with the requirements of vulnerable people, including training for staff, and having accessible buildings and signage. Vulnerable people can apply for a Keep Safe card that facilitates their access to this support. All of these approaches to vulnerability are provided in accessible formats, including the provisions of videos accompanied by a signer using British Sign Language (see, e.g., the Keep Safe Scotland (2017b) video). While robust policies and practice documents has become standard in policing—some would say too expansive, requiring too much working knowledge—the operationalisation of vulnerability lags behind much of the traditional work done by police. Rhetorical statements and grand mission statements committing an organisation to do better in relation to vulnerable people are not enough. These types of responses are important in providing a symbol of the intent of a service; h­ owever, unless these principles are operationalised in policies and SoPs, they remain tokenistic.

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A View from the Frontline

When it comes to addressing social issues over-represented in our vulnerable demographics, there is no better call to modern leadership than the historic words of Sir Winston Churchill: ‘We are out of money; now we have to think’. For many years, politicians, bureaucrats and frontline workers have echoed cries to break down silos between their respective organisations, citing collaboration as a means of revolutionising the current service delivery model and collectively creating more value and impact. Despite their repeated pleas, we still lack the essential ingredient for success: bold leadership. The type of leader required to move us forward must be willing to take calculated risks based on and evaluated through appropriate data sources. Though this may sound easy, there are many obstacles, barriers or related issues to consider, such as elections and election cycles, how information is shared when safety is in jeopardy, and the ability to admit mistakes or be critical of the current approach and service model. True reconciliation happens when we use our past learnings to act in the hope that we will improve the current situation or prevent history from repeating itself. There is considerable history and volumes of work that support changes to service delivery models, but we require bold leadership to put it into action. The simple fact remains that we must move from study to decision and focus on implementation versus further analysis of what we already know. Within the past several years we’ve seen numerous inquiries, committees, inquests, and strategies assembled to address individual social issues. In fact, most cities, provinces, and, often, countries have separate strategies for poverty, mental health, addictions, housing, homelessness, FASD (fetal alcohol spectrum disorder), and so on when many target the same demographic: our vulnerable population. The present approach is to demand that governments solve our social problems. Yet, in our economic environment, the answer has long been enabling business and industry via appropriate market access to foster innovation through research and development. This type of collaborative approach shows willingness for shared outcomes, knowing the benefit of partnership is the ability to accomplish something that neither party can do isolation. We must move away from the solitary nature of our current approach as we have known for far too long that it is of very limited success. With the problem clearly identified and the table set for change, our next step is to find a promising trend based in data-driven evidence to propel us (continued)

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(continued) forward. An organisation with the potential to assist in this revolution is LEPH (Law Enforcement and Public Health), which gathers the collective expertise of academia, business, and frontline practitioners from health and law enforcement to attain outcomes of mutual benefit. Our path is set and now is the time for bold leadership to give us momentum, take calculated risks, and enact the change our organisations and vulnerable populations need. Chief Dale R. McFee Edmonton Police Service

Conclusion The politics, policies, and practices of an organisation are indicative of what vulnerable people can expect of their police service. Grand mission statements about respecting the needs of vulnerable people, and committing an organisation to human rights approaches to policing will do little to change the lived experiences of vulnerable people. Rhetoric must be matched with praxis. Yet, without executive commitment to the issues of vulnerability in policing, even the best designed interventions may fail because they are not framed and implemented in a way that prioritises the needs of vulnerable people. Some policing services are doing more, and doing better, in relation to mapping out their strategies and programmes for resolving the vulnerability that frontline officers are required to manage. These better practice examples—such as Police Scotland and the London Metropolitan Police Service—showcase the necessary political and policy contexts for operationalising vulnerability from executive mission statements right through to standard operating procedures. As we note in our final chapter, robust policies and practices are instrumental in addressing not only the daily minutiae of frontline policing but also the extraordinary vulnerability that arises out of police use of force and a once-in-­a-generation pandemic.

Activities (1) Download your local service’s corporate, strategic, and/or business plans. Search the document for references to vulnerable people or vulnerability. How many instances does vulnerability rate a mention? In what contexts? Are there key performance indicators for vulnerability issues?

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(2) Search your local police service’s website for any policies, programmes, or standard operating procedures relating to vulnerability. If you can find a ­document, who gets labelled as vulnerable? What provisions have been implemented to address vulnerability? If a policy or practice document is not available, consider what this means for frontline police in their work with vulnerable people.

Readings and Resources Brown, H. (2003). Safeguarding adults and children with disabilities against abuse. Strasbourg: Council of Europe Publishing Greater London Authority. (2017). A safer city for all Londoners: Police and Crime Plan 2017–2021. London: Greater London Authority. Police Scotland. (2020). Keep Safe Places. Retrieved July 15, 2020, from https://www.scotland.police.uk/keep-­safe/personal-­safety/keep-­safe-­places. Ratcliffe, J. H. (2015). Harm-focussed policing. Ideas in American Policing, 19 (Sept).

Bibliography Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2012a). Vulnerable people policing: A preparatory framework for operationalising vulnerability. In I. Bartkowiak-Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 278–292). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2012b). The extraordinary intricacies of policing vulnerability. Australasian Policing: Journal of Professional Practice and Research, 4(2), 43–49. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2015). Policing diversity and vulnerability in the post-Macpherson era: Unintended consequences and missed opportunities. Policing: A Journal of Policy & Practice, 9(1), 89–100. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N.  L. (2017). Conceptual divides and practice synergies in law enforcement and public health: Some lessons from policing vulnerability in Australia. Policing and Society, 27(3), 276–288. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2019a, July). Policing vulnerable people. TILES Briefing Paper, 14. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., Asquith, N. L., & Roberts, K. (2017). Vulnerability as a contemporary challenge for policing. In N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, & K. Roberts (Eds.), Policing encounters with vulnerability (pp. 1–23). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Brown, H. (2003). Safeguarding adults and children with disabilities against abuse. Strasbourg: Council of Europe Publishing. Brown, J., Belur, J., Tompson, L., McDowall, A., Hunter, G., & May, T. (2018). Extending the remit of evidence-based policing. International Journal of Police Science & Management, 20(1), 38–51.

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Buchanan, D.  R. (2008). Autonomy, paternalism, and justice: Ethical priorities in public health. American Journal of Public Health, 98(1), 15–21. Care Quality Commission. (2019). Safeguarding people. Retrieved July 9, 2020, from https:// www.cqc.org.uk/what-­we-­do/how-­we-­do-­our-­job/safeguarding-­people. Clements, P., & Jones, J. (2009). Police training and the impact of Lawrence. In N. Hall, J.  Grieve, & S.  P. Savage (Eds.), Policing and the legacy of Lawrence (pp.  193–213). Cullompton: Willan Publishing. Cohen, B. (2019). The Stephen Lawrence inquiry report: 20 years on. London: Runneymede Trust. College of Policing. (2015). College of policing analysis: Estimating demand on the police service. Retrieved July 9, 2020, from www.college.police.uk/News/College-­news/ Documents/Demand%20Report%2023_1_15_noBleed.pdf. Degeling, M., & Berendt, B. (2018). What is wrong about Robocops as consultants? A technology-­centric critique of predictive policing. AI & Society, 33(3), 347–356. Ford, K., Newbury, A., Meredith, Z., Evans, J., Hughes, K., Roderick, J., Davies, A. R., & Bellis, M. A. (2020). Understanding the outcome of police safeguarding notifications to social services in South Wales. The Police Journal, 93(2), 87–108. Fleming, J. & Wood, J. (2006). New ways of doing business: Networks of policing & security. In J. Fleming & J. Wood (Eds), Fighting Crime Together: The challenges of policing and security networks (pp. 1–14). Sydney: University of New South Wales Press. Fyson, R., & Kitson, D. (2010). Human rights and social wrongs: Issues in safeguarding adults with learning disabilities. Practice: Social Work in Action, 22(5), 309–320. Greater London Authority. (2017). A safer city for all Londoners: Police and Crime Plan 2017–2021. London: Greater London Authority. Grieve, J. (2009). ‘Practical cop things to do’: The Stephen Lawrence Inquiry and changing the police mind-set. In N. Hall, J. Grieve, & S. P. Savage (Eds.), Policing and the legacy of Lawrence (pp. 99–123). Cullompton: Willan Publishing. Griffiths, B. (2009). Doing the right thing: A personal and organisation journey of change in homicide investigation in the Metropolitan Police Service. In N. Hall, J. Grieve, & S. P. Savage (Eds.), Policing and the legacy of Lawrence (pp. 124–143). Cullompton: Willan Publishing. Howes, L. M., Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2017). A federation of clutter: The Bourgeoning language of vulnerability in Australian policing policies. In N. L. Asquith, I.  Bartkowiak-Théron, & K.  Roberts (Eds.), Policing encounters with vulnerability (pp. 89–117). London: Palgrave Macmillan. London Metropolitan Police Service. (2017). Metropolitan Police Service Business Plan 2017–18. London: MPS. Macpherson, W. (1999). The Stephen Lawrence inquiry. London: Home Office. Mason-Bish, H. (2013). Conceptual issues in the construction of disability hate crime. In A. Roulstone & H. Mason-Bish (Eds.), Disability, hate crime and violence (pp. 11–24). London & New York: Routledge. MIND. (2017). Lived experience influence and participation policy: Ensuring that people with mental health problems drive all that we do. London: MIND. New South Wales Police Force. (2011b). Annual report 2010–2011. Sydney: NSWPF. New South Wales Police Force. (2016). NSW Police Force Corporate Plan 2016–2018. Sydney: NSWPF.

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New South Wales Police Force. (2019). NSW Police Force Statement of Strategic Intent 2019. Sydney: NSWPF. Nolan, K. (2015). Neoliberal common sense and race-neutral discourses: A critique of ‘evidence-­based’ policy-making in school policing. Discourse: Studies in the Cultural Politics of Education, 36(6), 894–907. Police Scotland. (2014). Scotland’s National Action Plan for human rights. Glasgow: Police Scotland. Police Scotland. (2017a). Serving a changing Scotland: Creating capacity to improve— Implementation Plan 2017–2020. Glasgow: 2026, Police Scotland & Scottish Police Authority. Police Scotland. (2017b). Keep safe Scotland (BSL) [video]. Retrieved July 15, 2020, from https://youtu.be/GZS7h1FTaQk. Police Scotland. (2020a). Code of ethics for policing in Scotland. Retrieved July 16, 2020, from https://www.scotland.police.uk/about-­us/code-­of-­ethics-­for-­policing-­in-­scotland/. Pring, J. (2020, June 25). Coronavirus: Peer calls for an end to use of ‘vulnerable’ to describe disabled people. Disability News Service. Retrieved July 14, 2020, from https://www. disabilitynewsservice.com/coronavirus-­peer-­calls-­for-­an-­end-­to-­use-­of-­vulnerable-­to-­ describe-­disabled-­people/?fbclid=IwAR3TJ6NEi_3xVo84Urx3OEduJzmHoyrR27k 0PF69jnVS2txt4MMsISwuelE. Queensland Police Service. (2020). Persons who are vulnerable, disabled or have cultural needs. Retrieved July 15, 2020, from https://tinyurl.com/QPOL-­vulnerable-­people-­ policy. Ratcliffe, J. H. (2015). Harm-focussed policing. Ideas in American Policing, 19(Sept). Richardson, R., Schultz, J. M., & Crawford, K. (2019). Dirty data, bad predictions, and how civil rights violations impact police data, predictive policing systems and justice. New York Law Review Online, 94(15), 15–55. Thomas, M., & Buckmaster, L. (2010). Paternalism in social policy when is it justifiable? Parliamentary Research Paper, 8. Tseloni, A., Mailley, J., Farrell, G., & Tilley, N. (2010). Exploring the international decline in crime rates. European Journal of Criminology, 7(5), 375–394. United Nations (UN) General Assembly. (1948). Universal declaration of human rights (217 [III] A). United Nations (UN) General Assembly. (1965). International convention on the elimination of all forms of racial discrimination. United Nations Treaty Series, 660. United Nations (UN) General Assembly. (1989). Convention on the rights of the child. United Nations Treaty Series, 1577. United Nations (UN) General Assembly. (2003). Optional protocol to the convention against torture and other cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment or punishment, A/RES/57/199. United Nations (UN) General Assembly. (2007). Convention on the rights of persons with disabilities, A/RES/61/106. Victorian Government. (2006). Charter of Human Rights and Responsibilities Act 2006. No. 43 of 2006. Westley, W. A. (1953). Violence and the police. American Journal of Sociology, 59(1), 34–41.

4

Public Health Models of Vulnerability

Introduction Vulnerability sits firmly at the intersection of law enforcement and public health (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2016; Asquith and Bartkowiak-Théron 2017). Most vulnerability issues are defined around the various individual and social characteristics that make us human. Some of these characteristics, which put us at a disadvantaged compared to others, have been historically criminalised. In this chapter, we analyse the social and structural reasons why such vulnerability attributes remain relevant to the field of policing, and some of the historical processes that led them to be criminalised (over-policing of race, arrest on the grounds of sexuality), or because the manifestation of these attributes have, or seem to have, endangered the public. 2020 has illustrated to all the critical role that police play in public health interventions. COVID-19, however, has also illustrated that both policing services and their governments were unprepared for managing the situational and iatrogenic vulnerabilities that impacted on some communities more acutely; especially those without the resources and capacities to manage their own wellbeing under pandemic restrictions. We discuss the unique public health challenges associated with COVID-19 in more detail in the final chapter of this book. In this chapter, we consider the broader issues of how the fields of law enforcement and public health connect and how vulnerability sits at the epicentre of this interconnection.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_4

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Concepts Much work undertaken by the police is not strictly related to matters of criminality. Maurice Punch was one of the first scholars to document the fact that a lot of police work has nothing to do with crime, and instead, relates to welfare matters, calls for concern, or helping other organisations go about their own businesses (Punch 1979). As noted in the previous chapter, the dominance of non-crime matters remains an issue, with the UK College of Policing identifying that 84% of calls to police are non-crime related (College of Policing 2015). Most of this work is largely undocumented. The fact that police have had to deal with social issues falling through the gap of other services’ remit (a point which we address later) has led police to take on the functions of a ‘secret social service’. Through that work, the interaction of police with vulnerability in non-criminal encounters has become normalised. Understanding this work with vulnerability requires an understanding of how vulnerability is defined and measured, in public health, according to social determinants of health (Karpati et al. 2002; Wood et al. 2015; Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2016; Asquith and Bartkowiak-­Théron 2017). According to the World Health Organisation (2020a), social determinants of health: …are the conditions in which people are born, grow, live, work and age. These circumstances are shaped by the distribution of money, power and resources at global, national and local levels. The social determinants of health are mostly responsible for health inequities—the unfair and avoidable differences in health status seen within and between countries.

These social determinants of health (see Fig. 4.1) manifest in public or private life in ways that they may become a possible source of concern for public or regulatory bodies. Being unable to read (either because of a cognitive condition, diagnosed or not, or an ill-fitted model of education) may translate into an inability to read danger or warning signs, which can then lead to uninformed actions that can put an individual or the public in danger. Mental health, as another example, may manifest in fits of uncontrolled aggressiveness or violence. Such behaviours, considered dangerous or ‘anti-social’ (prior to being acknowledged as induced by an underlying medical condition), have sometimes been met with an equivalent police response, and followed by a charge and arrest, and subsequently, a prison term. Addressing vulnerability as it arises in policing requires that we reconsider the remit of policing, take back many of the tasks assigned to police erroneously, and re-assign them to the disciplines more appropriately trained to do so.

Concepts

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FAMILY DISABILITY

HEALTH CARE ACCESS SELF DETERMINATION

AGE

GENDER & SEXUALITY

RACISM

SOCIAL DETERMINANTS OF HEALTH ENVIRONMENT

SCHOOL

JUSTICE

HOUSING

CULTURE

LANGUAGE COLONISATION

Fig. 4.1  Relationship between the determinants of health and vulnerability (adapted from Drawing Change 2013)

Regardless of which paradigm vulnerability sits in, social determinants of health, and their pragmatic unfolding in one’s life means that different actors (police, education, housing, health, etc.) need to address them in concertation with each other. This is a difficult collaborative exercise, due to the partitioning of areas of government into specific areas of responsibility which, on paper, do not bleed onto each other. In practice, however, the operationalisation of vulnerability in policing implies an entirely different way to work for all organisations concerned, where siloed practice is simply unfeasible, and in any case, not recommended (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2016; Julian et al. 2017).

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The operationalisation of social determinants of health or vulnerability into law and policing policy has crystallised these characteristics as intentional, or consequential, business of the police (Burris et al. 2010). For example, there is currently a discourse and policy disconnect between evidence-based practices that aim at early intervention to address substance abuse, under harm minimisation principles. There is an overwhelming evidence that harm minimisation (which acknowledges the inevitability of drugs in society and considers holistic ways to address their impact on the health and wellbeing of consumers) is one of the ways forward in terms of public health policy. As a matter of fact, it has been a key policy for some governments since the mid-1980s, though this approach was taken up later in the UK (see e.g., the Australian Department of Health 2004).1 Despite some evidence of slow change internationally, the oft-preferred more firm, visible forms of intervention align with the political rhetoric that revolves around ‘tough on crime’ (Des Jarlais 2017). Political actors have been, historically, considerable obstacles to programmes that contribute to the harm done by ill-­ informed drug use practices and schemes intended to limit injuries and illnesses (such as needle exchange programmes or methadone clinics). They have helped address the promotion of stereotypes about drug users and dealers, and shaped criminal law as an instrument to control drug use (Des Jarlais 2017). In that sense, police are consequentially mandated to act on anything that is operationalised in criminal law disguised as public health legislation, or public health legislation used as a pretext for criminalisation. Within that mandate, however, the conceptualisation of the police as ‘guardians’ as opposed to ‘warriors’ is a tension that remains to be resolved (Wood and Watson 2017). This tension is most obvious in notions of poverty and hardship as ‘police property’ (Reiner 1998; Bartkowiak-Théron and Layton 2012), which is counter-productive in managing these public health concerns. The minimalist view of the policing remit lends itself to strictly consider police officers are law enforcers, who fight against adversity-related behaviours, as opposed to protecting community members from the impacts of adversity (Millie and Herrington 2014). The reality, however, is that the various interventions that lead police to deploy crisis de-escalation techniques in their encounters with mental illness, or the ­harm-­minimisation policies introduced to address substance use (such as cannabis cautioning schemes), are far from a war agenda, and closer to a guardianship model, which favours procedural justice and a focus on the facilitation of public  Drug harm minimisation not only addresses actual drug use; it also addresses associated issues such as blood-borne infections (associated to the use of dirty needles), transmission of HIV/AIDs, education about drugs and their market, management of opioid epidemics, and pill-testing. 1

Historical Development

55

health referrals and emergency care. For those who contemplate law enforcement as solely confined to crime control and punishing deviant populations, this is an entirely different paradigm to consider.

Historical Development A minimalist view of policing implies that police only deal with crime and deviance. All matters that are against the law are dealt with swiftly, promptly, and visibly. Such responses have usually been those of move alongs, ID checks, warnings, cautions, fines, or arrest, possibly followed by prison terms. Such ways of dealing with criminality have been severely criticised by social commentators and scientists, in that they only consider the ‘criminal snapshot’: that is to say, the commission of a crime with no consideration of the circumstances that have led to the commission of said crime. Youth, and the behaviours associated with experimentation and risk-taking, was one of the first areas of vulnerability to be granted the consideration of interagency collaboration, such as education, health, and justice. Educational, as opposed to criminal justice, responses to youth displaying anti-social behaviours has long been a focus of European policy and practice, albeit modest and fledging until the post- World War II (post-WWII) era (Cullen et al. 2011). As a result, youth was the first vulnerable category of people dealt with outside the criminal justice system. However, it is in fact the de-institutionalisation of people with mental illness in the 1960s that precipitated the realisation that some adult behaviours considered criminal or at least anti-social are actually not committed with intent, but as a consequence of social, economic, or clinical conditions (in this case: severe mental illnesses or learning disabilities) (Bittner 1967; Wood et al. 2015). In those situations, the behaviours are the result of uncontrollable symptoms of a disease or of socio-economic circumstances, which can only be managed within models of care that had disappeared with the closure of ‘lunatic asylums’, secure facilities, and mental health care facilities (Cullen et al. 2011). Yet, the closure of these institutions did not result in increased community funding to support people not needing secure care. In the absence of secure care in the ‘asylum’ or community support, police became involved with mental health issues in the community (Bittner 1967). In the context of the 2020 #defundthepolice debate, questions about the police remit over non-policing matters such as mental illness are salutary. Police have never been willing to become ‘street-corner psychiatrists’ or ‘kiddies cops’ (Bartkowiak-­Théron and Layton 2012). They have, however, been drawn into the role of public health interventionists as a result of deep and systematic budget cuts to the (public) health system, and the subsequent criminalisation of behaviours that

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are, in the first place, only relevant to the sphere of public health. To be clear: police have inherited the administration of a whole range of social problems when funding was cut for the specialist agencies that initially dealt with those problems. In police training, the game of ‘Who you gonna call?’ (apart from Ghostbusters) highlights the fact that police are often those who are called first when people do not know who else to call, or do not want to call, for example, emergency health. The pattern, as a point of illustration, is as follows: • Cuts to education → limited presence of educators and aids in school → reduced capacity for informal and formal control of behaviours in the classroom and on the playground → criminalisation of youth behaviour → police are called onto school grounds. • Cuts to housing → limited availability of public or specialised accommodation → individuals and families forced onto the streets → police are directed to move homeless people along. • Cuts to health → people with a mental illness are left with limited, or without regular or consistent, care → crisis escalates in the community or at home → in the absence of de-escalation specialists, police are being called. As put by Bartkowiak-Théron and Layton (2012, 55): Reframed in the area of vulnerability, this meant two things. First of all, that, while police are the first port of call for a number of matters—considering their ability to respond to incidents on a 24/7 basis—they cannot specialise in all of these. The example of police not being ‘street psychiatrists’ is well known amongst practitioners… However, it is important that police are aware of referencing protocols to specialist agencies, and of existing support resources in the communities they serve.

The nascent field of law enforcement and public health (LEPH) is one that seeks to acknowledge the need for multi-disciplinary responses in order to improve (1) professional practice across all areas of government and (2) the social circumstances of vulnerable people. Drug (licit or illegal) and alcohol use are critical health issues, but the impact of their over consumption on behaviour makes them an issue for police. The ‘fine line’ between health and policing remits blurs automatically in such examples. LEPH also illustrates the constant and consistent iatrogenic and aggravating impact the criminal justice system has on populations that are already at a disadvantage.

The idea of collaborative partnerships to address complex problems is not new and has been a focus of government policy for several decades. However, recent developments in these fields have sought to address issues rather than maintain si-

In Practice

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los between health and law enforcement. Examples of these approaches include interagency discussion of strategies and operations, such as the Multi-Agency Risk Assessment (MARA) Conference or Multi-Agency Safeguarding Hub (MASH) in the UK, or the Inter-agency Support Teams (IAST) in Tasmania (Punch and James 2017; Julian et al. 2017). As indicated above, the increasing mandate of the police towards administering social issues has been a historical, ill-thought process of knee-jerk responses to new political flavours, economic downturns, and moral panics (e.g., the demonisation of youth, and their portrayal as ‘super-predators’; Elikan 1999) (Punch and James 2017). Concurrently, policing organisations (along with health services) have had to grapple with changing social attitudes, especially in relation to minority communities. While human rights approaches to vulnerability and policing are slowly emerging, the historical stigma around vulnerable groups remains a problem in policing. Police organisations are therefore making some efforts to change how they engage with vulnerability and how they work collaboratively to address the vulnerability that arises in policing. This requires policing organisations to account for the mistakes of the past.

In Practice The #defundthepolice debate is a welcome one, especially in the area of law enforcement and public health. However, it is not a new one, and we can it trace back, in the specific field of vulnerability, to the earliest works of Maurice Punch when he ‘denounced’ police as a (reluctant) ‘Secret Social Service’ (1979). There are some strong justifications to autopsy the work of police, and identify what police do that is strictly law enforcement and crime control, and what police do that is non-crime related and more situated in public health. This is not a new idea, however, and research has shown that out of all calls placed by the public to the police, most ‘…are not crime related but were for help, advice and diverse public health issues’ (Punch and Naylor 1973). Welfare incidents represent a significant component of police work, with ever-increasing public demands for specific interventions to protect vulnerable people. For example, incidents involving victims, offenders, and witnesses living with a mental illness alone account for at least 15% (but as high as 40%) of police time (College of Policing 2015). As indicated by David Strang, Chief Constable of Lothian and Borders Police: The role of police in the 21st century needs to be re-examined… we need to look beyond a traditional concern with the police as law enforcement agency and emergency service and consider the ways in which policing is fundamental to social peace-­ keeping and community building. In other words, policing must engage in addressing

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4  Public Health Models of Vulnerability the long-term causes of problems in partnership with other agencies, particularly those involved in health and education. (ESRC 2007)

However, while advocating for wider involvement of police in non-crime matters—often in collaboration—the political context of policing is one of austerity and reduced remit. As seen in the UK, there is an increasingly politically driven narrowing of the remit of policing to law enforcement and crime control, with the then Home Secretary, Theresa May, berating the police that they are not social workers but crime fighters (see, van Dijk et al. 2015). So at the same time that police are expanding their reach to work collaboratively on the social issues underpinning crime, they are being pressured to cut back on the tasks outside of the traditional policing remit. The political conundrum is that while practice is fundamentally cross-disciplinary, and problems are multi-faceted, solutions remain suboptimal because the strictly allocated budgets are siloed, not interdisciplinary (Punch and James 2017). In practice, it is important to understand that some policing activities, based on ‘quality of life’ ordinances, are mainly ‘complaints-oriented’ (Stuart 2014; Herring 2019). This type of policing essentially focuses on visible poverty and social marginality (Stuart 2014). This is of considerable importance when police actions are acknowledged as potentially damaging to one’s vulnerability (iatrogenic harm), and when they are not considered as fundamentally linked to public health, or collaborative practice (Herring 2019). Case Scenario Policing the Homeless

The criminalisation of homeless people is one of those issues that remain raw in the public psyche. It is a premier indicator of inequality and poverty (Stuart 2015) and an uncomfortable reminder that governments have failed to provide even the most basic of human rights. The sight of visibly homeless people triggers reactions ranging from deep empathy, to uneasy or spiteful ignorance, to angry annoyance at what are deemed ‘unsightly’ demonstrations of poverty (Herring 2019). The criminalisation of homeless people has much to do with the spatial exclusion of visible poverty (Forrest 2013). ‘Quality of life’ policing targets behaviours, such as pan-handling or sitting or sleeping on the cold pavement with no place to go, that are an inconvenience to those wealthy enough to have a home, and those invested in urban renewal or economic prosperity.

In Practice

59

Such police actions must be carefully scrutinised: ‘police interactions have long constituted a “defining encounter” of life on the street’ (Stuart 2015, 941). But those who are homeless are often the most vulnerable, with no other recourse than live on the streets. Regardless of the country, the high visibility of homelessness is, to some, considered a political and social annoyance that needs to be hidden (Forrest 2013). Cuts in funding have made it impossible for public housing agencies to cater for a growing demand for social accommodation. As a result, police have been called to ‘move along’ and sometimes confiscate the belongings of homeless people, with the view to push them outside the boundaries of the city, or wealthy residential area (Body-Gendrot 2011). A common policing response includes the ‘zero tolerance’ or ‘quality of life’ practices initiated by Giuliani and Bratton in New York City in the 1990s, under the banner of reclaiming public spaces (Stuart 2015). Yet, as Herring (2019) identifies, police officers sometimes acknowledge that by moving along homeless people they are not solving any problem, and rather, creating new ones for others. In 2016/2017, Melbourne saw an uproar of public discontent about visibly homeless people in the city’s central business district (CBD). The Victorian Government decided to ‘sweep illegal campers’ from its CBD, ahead of the Australian Tennis Open. The removal of tents, sleeping implements, and chairs was conducted by council workers accompanied by police, given the latter’s remit over public urban spaces. At the time, government officials denied any tennis-­related tourism justification, and claimed that ‘City of Melbourne Officers regularly monitor sites that are known to be used by people sleeping rough as a place for shelter, and ensure the areas are kept tidy and do not become detrimental to public amenity or safety’ (cited in ABC News 2017). Protesters however argued about the foolishness of such actions, as there is effectively no safe space in the city for homeless people. Protesters advocated for the creation of policies and infrastructure that would allow for homeless people to avoid the demonising behaviours from passers-by, and physical and verbal abuse whilst sleeping out. In 2018, some of these claims came to fruition, with the Victorian government drafting policies that aimed to break the cycle of homelessness. In boosting social housing resources, creating outreach teams in homelessness ‘hotspots’, and supporting engagement efforts across emergency accommodation, health and social work, the government sought to address the issue of homelessness holistically (Government of Victoria 2018). In France, the ‘Brigade d’Assistance aux personnes sans-abri’ (the BAPSA, the Support Brigade for the Homeless) is a sub-branch of the Paris Police Préfecture. Before the repeal of fifteenth century vagrancy laws in 1994, the job descrip-

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tion of the BAPSA was to remove, with force if necessary, all beggars and vagrants from anywhere in the Parisian vicinity. At the time, the idea of ‘containment’ and ‘preventive protection’ of the homeless was prominent around the world (Stuart 2015). It was not until 2001 that Jean-Paul Proust, the police prefect, suggested dismantling the Brigade and giving its portfolio to the SAMU (Service d’Aide Médicale Urgente, an award-winning, humanitarian branch of social services specialised in providing support to the homeless around France, Belgium, and Luxembourg). However, the lack of funding of these social services meant that the mission of the Brigade was reviewed and minimised to providing emergency blankets during the cold seasons, relocation to emergency housing services (with approval from the individual), or transfer to medical facilities. The Brigade’s strict support portfolio means that it does not have the power to enforce or coerce, which can be a source of frustration for police (Lebond and Voldoire 2017). In 2017, several non-government associations publicly denounced and filed a series of complaints to the French Ombudsman, against the actions of the police nationale and municipale in their removal of homeless people’s possessions in various French jurisdictions (Giraud 2018). In response, it was argued that Article R632-1 du Code Pénal (the French Criminal Code) forbids dropping, leaving, in any private or public place, with the exception of the locations specifically determined by the dedicated authority, any garbage, detritus or insalubrious property or materials’ (‘interdit de déposer, d’abandonner, en lieu public ou privé, à l’exception des emplacements désignés à cet effet par l’autorité administrative compétente, des ordures, déchets ou matériaux insalubres’). It was also made explicit that while people without an abode could keep a bag of clothing, cooking instruments, a tent, and blankets, any furniture, mattress, or cardboard can be confiscated by police. Such complaints have recently come to prominence again, as part of an overall concern for a rise of homelessness in France, as a result of COVID-­19. ◄ A View from the Frontline

For years I have encouraging my students to explore the unintended consequences of both policy and the subsequent operations within the criminal justice system, in a measure to aid their development in critical thinking and leverage their bright minds to seek creative resolutions to the issues we both face and create in policing. (continued)

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(continued) My participation at the 2018 Law Enforcement and Public Health Conference in Toronto renewed my belief that the unintended consequences of policing may be the evidence required to justify the re-examination of what the expected outcomes are from policing responses as they relate to the mission of elevating public health. I was responsible for the facilitation of a panel presentation on how policing efforts may, as politely captured by conference organisers, ameliorate or exacerbate the risk to public health in marginalised communities. The panel was composed of people and professions from across the globe, and it is here where I met a young police officer from West Africa. Looking smartly dressed in his grey police uniform, clearly nervous about his pending contribution, this young man had travelled many miles to share his experience with a collection of professionals from around the world. He quietly described his role as the acquired immunodeficiency syndrome (AIDS) Prevention Officer and highlighted the topic of sex work in his ­jurisdiction. The sale of sexual services in his country is illegal, and police officers are trained to look for indicia of sex workers as part of their duty to conduct sanctioned work, to enforce the law, and to obtain convictions in court. As the panellist explained, police officers are trained to look for short dresses, exposed breasts, and the possession of condoms. Having previously been the team commander for a police unit dedicated to investigating sex exploitation through collaboration with sex workers, I was keenly aware of where this conversation was heading. Independent of the reasons why men and women sell their sexuality for money, it could easily be anticipated that the sex workers described in this presentation would respond in their own manner to police protocols relating to the indicia of sex work. In an effort to avoid detection by police, sex workers would dress traditionally, ensure their bodies were covered, and would be less likely to use or possess condoms during their interaction with sex consumers. The young police officer had no need to articulate the policy conflict that was revealed. With only eight years in his profession, this police officer had exposed the unintended consequence of police training relating to the practices of enforcement of sexual service laws in that country; outcomes that (continued)

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(continued) run in direct conflict with the mission to address the issue of systemic disease transmission within a vulnerable population. For the remainder of the conference, in other presentations I was privileged to attend, I leveraged this story of police training and disease control during my interaction with conference delegates. How does the traditional role that police organisations assume, and the actions those organisations take to fulfil that mandate, conflict or misalign with the mission of addressing overall community health? Staff Sergeant James Clover Edmonton Police Service

Conclusion Policing vulnerability effectively has a lot to do with the policing of public ‘ill-­ health’. It is also, fundamentally, about police coming to fill the service and support gaps left gaping after decades of measures of austerity or neoliberal funding cuts. But a frank discussion of the work that police do shows that most of the time, police officers are ill-equipped to deal with issues that require specialist care and training (often at tertiary level: social work, mental health, pharmaceutical use of drugs, etc.). Vulnerable people, according to law and policy, require special precautionary measures to be able to navigate the intricacies of their encounter with police and the overall justice system. When this encounter is triggered by a (public) health condition or a global pandemic, it is necessary for law enforcement to work in partnership with public health agencies, for all needs to be properly identified or diagnosed and properly addressed.

Activities 1. Analyse the 2020 #defundthepolice movement from the point of view of Law Enforcement and Public Health. What is behind this message? 2. Pick any social determinant of health not specifically mentioned in this chapter. How is it relevant to policing? How can it be taken out of the policing portfolio altogether?

Readings and Resources

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Readings and Resources Centre for Law Enforcement and Public Health. (2020). Themes and activities. Retrieved June 23, 2020, from https://cleph.com.au/index.php/themes-­activities. Global Law Enforcement and Public Health Association. (2019). The issues. Retrieved June 23, 2020, from https://gleapha.wildapricot.org/issues. Harm Reduction Coalition. (n.d.). Principles of harm reduction. Retrieved July 15, 2020, from https://harmreduction.org/about-­us/principles-­of-­harm-­reduction/. O’Grady, B., Gaetz, S., & Buccieri, K. (2011). Can i see your ID? The policing of youth homelessness in Toronto. The homeless hub report series, 5. Toronto: Justice for Children and Youth, and Homeless Hub Press. World Health Organization. (2020a). Social determinants of health. Retrieved July 6, 2020, from https://www.who.int/social_determinants/en/. World Health Organization. (2020b). Fast facts on health inequities [video]. Retrieved July 6, 2020, from https://youtu.be/NwnhWJUsUnY.

Bibliography ABC News. (2017, January 11). Homeless people removed from Melbourne CBD ahead of Australian open. ABC News Online. Retrieved June 23, 2020, from https://www.abc. net.au/news/2017-­01-­11/homeless-­people-­removed-­from-­melbourne-­cbd-­ahead-­of-­ tennis/8174646. Asquith, N.  L., & Bartkowiak-Théron, I. (2017). Police as public health interventionists. In N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, & K. Roberts (Eds.), Policing Encounters with Vulnerability (pp. 145–170). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Australian Department of Health (2004). Harm minimisation. Retrieved July 15, 2020, from https://www1.health.gov.au/internet/publications/publishing.nsf/Content/drugtreat-­ pubs-­front9-­wk-­toc~drugtreat-­pubs-­front9-­wk-­secb~drugtreat-­pubs-­front9-­wk-­secb-­ 2~drugtreat-­pubs-­front9-­wk-­secb-­2-­1. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N.  L. (2016). Conceptual divides and practice synergies in law enforcement and public health: Some lessons from policing vulnerability in Australia. Policing and Society, 27(3), 276–288. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Layton, C. (2012). Educating for vulnerability. In I. Bartkowiak-­ Théron & N.  L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp.  47–63). Sydney: The Federation Press. Bittner, E. (1967). Police discretion in emergency apprehension of mentally ill persons. Social Problems, 14(3), 278–279. Body-Gendrot, S. (2011). Police marginality, racial logics and discrimination in the banlieues de France. In P. Amar (Ed.), New racial missions of policing (pp. 82–99). London: Routledge.

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Burris, S., Wagenaar, A. C., Swanson, J., Ibrahim, J. K., Wood, J., & Mello, M. M. (2010). Making the case for laws that improve health: A framework for public health law research. Milbank Quarterly, 88(2), 169–210. Clover, J. (2018). Unintended consequences as evidence to mission distortion: Reconsidering the intended contributions of policing to the public health (LEPH2018). Journal of Community Safety & Well-Being, 3(3), 91–91. College of Policing. (2015). College of policing analysis: Estimating demand on Police Service. Retrieved June 23, 2020, from http://www.college.police.uk/News/College-­ news/Documents/Demand%20Report%2023_1_15_noBleed.pdf. Cullen, F. T., Leron Johnson, C., & Nagin, D. S. (2011). Prisons do not reduce recidivism: The high cost of ignoring science. The Prison Journal, 91(3), 48–65. Des Jarlais, D. C. (2017). Harm reduction in the USA: The research perspective and an archive to David purchase. Harm Reduction Journal, 14(1), 51–61. Economic and Social Research Council. (2007). What is policing for? Examining the impact and implications of contemporary policing interventions. In ESRC seminar series: Mapping the public policy landscape. Swindon: ESRC. Elikan, P. T. (1999). Superpredators: The demonization of our children by the law. New York: Insight Books. Forrest, S. (2013). From ‘Rabble Management’ to ‘Recovery Management’: Policing homelessness in marginal urban space. Urban Studies, 51(9), 1909–1925. Giraud, Y. (2018, 26 October). ‘La Police peut-elle embarquer la tente et les affaires d’un sans-abri?’, Libération. Government of Victoria. (2018). Breaking the cycle of homelessness. Retrieved June 23, 2020, from https://www.premier.vic.gov.au/breaking-­the-­cycle-­of-­homelessness/. Herring, C. (2019). Complaint-oriented policing: Regulating homelessness in public space. American Sociological Review, 84(5), 769–800. Julian, R., Bartkowiak-Théron, I., Hallam, J., & Hughes, C. (2017). Exploring law enforcement and public health as a collective impact initiative: Lessons learned from Tasmania as a case study. Journal of Criminological Research, Policy and Practice, 3(2), 79–92. Karpati, A., Galea, S., Awerbuch, T., & Levins, R. (2002). Variability and vulnerability at the ecological level: Implications for understanding the social determinants of health. American Journal of Public Health, 92, 1768–1772. Lebond, C., & Voldoire, V. (2017, July 20). La BAPSA: une brigade de police très sociale. Retrieved June 23, 2020, from https://www.franceculture.fr/emissions/itineraire-­bis/la-­ bapsa-­une-­brigade-­de-­police-­tres-­sociale. Millie, A., & Herrington, V. (2014). The great debate: How wide or narrow should the police’s remit be? Public Safety Leadership Research Focus, 2(4), 1–10. Punch, M. (1979). The secret social service. In S.  Holdaway (Ed.), The British police (pp. 102–117). London: Edward Arnold. Punch, M., & James, S. (2017). Researching law enforcement and public health. Policing and Society, 27(3), 251–260. Punch, M., & Naylor, T. (1973). The police: A social service. New Society, 24(554), 358–361. Reiner, R. (1998). The politics of the police (3rd ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stuart, F. (2014). From ‘Rabble Management’ to ‘Recovery Management’: Policing homelessness in marginal urban space. Urban Studies, 51(9), 1909–1925.

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Stuart, F. (2015). On the streets, under arrest: Policing homelessness in the 21st century. Sociology Compass, 9, 940–950. van Dijk, A., Hoogewoning, F., & Punch, M. (2015). What matters in policing? Change values and leadership in turbulent times. Bristol: Policy Press. Wood, J.  D., Taylor, C.  J., Groff, E.  R., & Ratcliffe, J.  H. (2015). Aligning policing and public health promotion: Insights from the world of foot patrol. Police Practice and Research, 16(3), 211–223. Wood, J. D., & Watson, A. C. (2017). Improving police interventions during mental health-­ related encounters: Past, sspresent and future. Policing and Society, 27(3), 289–299.

Part II Vulnerability in Practice

5

Community Engagement

Introduction There is no denying that community engagement is a good thing. In all areas of government, community engagement is recognised as a beneficial exercise that allows for public institutions to work better, and in synchronisation with the needs of communities. More importantly, it allows the co-design of multidimensional solutions to multi-faceted issues that are often difficult to unpack without the diverse views of the many people (or their representatives) who have a stake in those issues or who are impacted by those issues. Community engagement facilitates the promotion of positive outcomes for target communities. It is therefore only natural that governments have pushed for collaboration as policy and have encouraged citizens or community members to be willing share their ideas, or their concerns, with the view to then initiate community-public sector partnerships to resolve these. Community engagement therefore exists at various levels of government policy design and implementation, through strategic community forums, community consultation exercises, and so on. Young people are even trained to think about citizen engagement via specific programmes in schools, such as civic and citizenship education (see the interview of Robert Reich on this topic; details provided in Readings and Resources below). We need to refocus this conversation within the policing field and in relation to vulnerable people. Through those lenses, community engagement processes have not always been smooth. Some would even say that while policing organisations © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_5

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are striving to engage with their communities, there are more initiatives that fail than succeed. This chapter careful scrutinises the policing context of engaging with vulnerable communities and the historical and ethical complexities of engagement in what is traditionally perceived as a command and control environment.

Concepts Several definitions can be applied to community engagement, depending on the disciplinary area one looks at. A basic understanding of community engagement revolves around ‘…the opportunity, capacity and willingness of individuals to work collectively to shape public life’ (Rogers and Robinson 2004, 2). This involves individual community members as well as more organised groups, all the way to non-government and government agencies. Most democratic governments recognise that community engagement is fundamental to the improvement of public trust and public perceptions of public authorities. While this might seem like a fairly straightforward notion, especially in democratic societies where ‘policing by consent’ is par for the course, the very idea of community engagement initially consisted of a true paradigm shift for law enforcement agencies. The idea of ‘mutual aid’ (Rogers and Robinson 2004) does not really sit well with a service that is traditionally seen as top-down, where control is heavily centralised, and where law enforcement is perceived as something that is done to citizens (as passive recipients of government services). More encompassing understandings of policing, however, are underpinned by community engagement as a fundamental philosophy that justifies the work of police with communities and, more so, with community members as co-producers of public safety. This is where applied definitions of community engagement become useful to understand how it ‘fits’ in the world of policing, and particularly how it applies to vulnerable groups. Generally, in specialised and applied disciplines, community engagement is defined as ‘…the development of partnerships that ensure a mutually beneficial exchange of knowledge’ (LeClus 2012). The exchange of knowledge for the purpose of better understanding violence and its occurrence is paramount to police being able to go about its business priorities.

Bluntly put: if police do not have information about crime, they can do nothing about it. Police are experts at obtaining evidence by professional means ­(intelligence, statistics, etc.). However, this provides a limited amount of information. Much has been said about:

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( 1) the ‘hidden’ figures of violence in relation to vulnerable people; (2) the refusal of some vulnerable groups to report crime, for example, in cases of anti-LGBTIQ + violence; and (3) the inappropriateness of top-down measures to combat crime and deviance (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2012b). The inclusion and the participation of all who can provide insight into criminal events are essential given that: [v]iolence is a complex phenomenon arising from individual, systemic, and societal factors. Therefore, responses that combat it should be comprehensive and arise from local community contexts, and solutions must engage a broad array of disciplines and sectors, including the most directly affected by violence (survivors, witnesses, and perpetrators). (Bowen et al. 2004, 357)

Myhill’s definition of the community engagement process in the policing context highlights its subtleties in the following terms: The process of enabling the participation of citizens and communities in policing at their chosen level, ranging from providing information and reassurance, to empowering them to identify and implement solutions to local problems and influence strategic priorities and decisions. The police, citizens and communities must have the willingness, capacity and opportunity to participate. The Police Service and partner organisations must have a responsibility to engage and, unless there is a justifiable reason, the presumption is that they must respond to community input. (Myhill 2006, iv)

As indicated elsewhere (Bartkowiak-Théron 2011), there are two main elements to Myhill’s (2006) definition. The first one is how it encompasses the world of policing. The second one is its directionality. Until Myhill’s (2006) work, there was little ability to comprehend all the subtleties of the concept of community engagement within a law enforcement paradigm. From a policing perspective, his words define police as enabling and authorising agents of community involvement in policing business. As well, it also makes an imperative of police involvement in community initiatives. More so, though, Myhill’s (2006) definition brings community engagement further than a mere ‘fluffy’ concept. It turns it into an ongoing process that can also be initiated by community members, in providing opportunities for police to join in community enterprises. Community engagement in policing requires constant and significant efforts from all parties. Done properly, it has proven to significantly improve ‘… social capital and achieve positive outcomes for citizens’ (Lockey et al. 2019, 177).

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Bowen et al. (2004) make it clear that only those who are involved in violence or crime (on its perpetrating or the receiving ends) can provide the complex analyses of problems and identify their root causes. Interestingly, their research participants all identify the full scope of social determinants of (ill-)health as issues directly impacting the commission of a crime: poverty, austerity, and cultural norms that support the physical chastising of children, communication, substance use, education, decaying living environments, racial differences, and so on. This is why work with vulnerable people should avoid stigmatising groups already at the margin, such as young people. Ethnic communities, especially in colonised countries, express that levels of hostility towards the police remain as a result of historical distrust, discrimination, and racist attitudes (and institutional racism) between communities and government services (Scott et al. 2016). As such, combatting the idea of the ‘other’ is fundamental to engagement. Othering as a form of policy (formal or informal) prevents community members to gain the full status of capable agents in the production of civil society (Zeldin 2004). It contributes to the perception that vulnerable people, regardless of their attributes, are problems that need some form of resolution brought to them (often: punitive or clinical action; Bartkowiak-Théron 2011), rather than individuals who can express their voice and suggest pathways for ‘…problem-solving and corrective action’ (Zeldin 2004, 626). The idea of local capacity governance contradicts the idea of ‘people as problems’, and proposes, as Bowen et al. (2004) do, that local members of the community are actually better placed to identify not only local and community issues, but also their root causes. More importantly, it is now acknowledged that even those who are deemed incapable of identifying needs and circumstances are actually an essential component in community development and essential sources of information in the identification of safety issues. By definition, the collaborative, negotiated harnessing of their local knowledge is instrumental to the collaborative design of specifically tailored responses to the area’s circumstances. It also helps boost the strength of the local social fabric, by building stronger senses of identity, as well as more resilient links within the community. As such, engagement strategically helps to break down the ostracisation of members who have traditionally been placed at the margin of, or excluded from, decision-making. Falling neatly under the community policing and engagement ethos are attempts to extend a personalised service to the social groups whose concerns have historically been marginalised or overlooked.1 In doing so, community policing, under the  In New South Wales, Australia, such concerns are part of the touchstones of the NSW Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Act, Part 9, which relates to Vulnerable Populations: Aboriginal people and Torres Straight Islanders, young people, mentally ill and otherwise disabled and people of non-English speaking background. 1

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guise of community engagement, builds relationships with minority and vulnerable groups; with crime prevention, intelligence gathering, and improved engagement as its goals. This, however, requires a shift in policing mentality, where police officers need to reimagine their role as guardians rather than warriors, despite the latter being the predominant mentality in police culture (President’s Task Force 2015). Procedural justice (the idea of fairness in the discussion and administration of a case or dispute going through a system) underpins some of the major principles of community engagement in policing. It was acknowledged, in the 1960s, that the involvement of victims of crime was essential to the good conduct of criminal justice. Victims cannot be passive spectators in the trials that concern them. They have a stake in explaining and depicting the toll a crime took on them and the extent of the trauma experience by themselves and others (Bartkowiak-Théron and Jaccoud 2008). Perceptions of fairness from the victim are crucial to their perception of procedural legitimacy and justice, and are fundamental in addressing their frustration, which is essential to their willingness to collaborate with criminal justice actors. The expansion of community engagement initiatives with police depends, to a large extent, on the trust and legitimacy established between a police organisation and the community it serves.

Therefore, the views held by community members of their police departments and individual ‘beat’ police are fundamental for ‘…community members to believe that officers servicing the community do so with legitimacy and trust’ (Scott et al. 2016, 4; see also Bartkowiak-Théron 2011; Lockey et al. 2019). It is widely admitted in literature dedicated to justice and engagement, that ‘…people are more likely to obey the law when they believe that those who are enforcing it have authority that is perceived as legitimate by those subject to the authority’ (President’s Task Force 2015, 1). Further, enabling processes that allow community members to participate in policing at their chosen level is a show of good faith from agencies that seek involvement from their ‘customers’ (Lockey et al. 2019).

Historical Developments The history of policing is peppered with events and incidents that demonstrate relational rifts between police and communities (we develop this further in Chap. 12), particularly communities at the margin, or, as it was put in a report on community engagement in an American jurisdiction, ‘…communities plagued with a high crime rate and a large minority population’ (Scott et al. 2016, 4). In some part, such rifts were caused by heavy-handed or ‘get tough’ policies that saw the devel-

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opment of zero tolerance intervention policies, which were to the detriment of police-­community relationships, and sometimes (not always on purpose) encouraged some heavy-handed use of police powers (Albrecht 2019). Police organisations, after the significant backlash that followed these heavy-handed tactics, slowly transitioned towards public participation models (Albrecht 2019; Scott et al. 2016). Collaboration between police and community members was sought to develop policies and strategies for more effective resource deployment aimed to prevent or reduce crime by improving relationships, increase community engagement, strengthen social control (formal and informal), and foster cooperation. While policing policies focused on crime control were strongly underpinned by counter-­ terrorism concerns in the post 9/11 era, the minimal input from community members and the ostracisation of some community members (victims, ethnic groups, etc.) was criticised by community leaders and advocates. The return to more neighbourhood-based policing policies, and the re-­ prioritisation of community policing and citizen engagement was more strongly encouraged by prominent political members in the US and UK. In the 2010s, police forces in the UK looked at community engagement as a way to bring more cost-­ efficiency to service delivery, and to combat the measures of austerity that were placed upon them. Social capital is a term that captures the relational networks that exist between individuals and groups who share good will, values, and identities, and which allow a society to function in ways acceptable to that group (Lockey et al. 2019). Investing in social capital is one of the ways to achieve these objectives. Following a series of incidents (including fatal shootings) between US law enforcement personnel and ethnic communities, in 2015, in the US, President Obama’s Task Force on 21st Century Policing released a report (2015) that focused on issues of trust and legitimacy in American policing. The report advocates for the necessary (re-)building of public trust, based on six pillars; the first four dedicated to police-community engagement. ( 1) building trust and legitimacy, (2) policy and oversight, (3) technology and social media, and (4) community policing and crime reduction (President’s Task Force 2015, xx). These first four pillars are deemed as a crucial foundation from which other pillars can grow (Scott et al. 2016). Specifically, (and noting that the following quote strongly resonates with Myhill’s above definition of community engagement):

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[l]aw enforcement agencies should, therefore, work with community residents to identity problems and collaborate on implementing solutions that produce meaningful results for the community. Specifically, law enforcement agencies should develop and adopt policies and strategies that reinforce the importance of community engagement in managing public safety. Law enforcement agencies should also engage in multidisciplinary, community team approaches for planning, implementing, and responding to crisis situations with complex causal factors. (President’s Task Force 2015, 3)

Technology, especially social media, is particularly useful to forms of engagement and fosters transparency and accountability. This has been thoroughly embraced by police organisations, who have boosted their efforts, worldwide, to communicate via social media, and increase the resourcing of their media offices to that effect. Traditional media and social media are helpful means for the police to communicate, at least on a basic level, with community members. Such communication and ‘broadcast’ endeavours contribute to general efforts aimed at boosting the transparency of the organisations towards their practices and their policies. If monitored well, it also helps with preventing the escalation of resentment, in case of clashes between parties, as a pre-emptive explanatory forum. However, social media is only a partial strategy. It remains, in its current state, a somewhat one-way form of communication from the police, unless comments are enabled and the issues raised by the community are addressed transparently. It has nonetheless an undeniable capacity for mobilisation.

In Practice The participation and engagement of communities in policing practice and policy can vary in scope, shape, and intent, and go from the soft negotiation of initiatives with community representatives, to involvement of community members on ­strategic committees or at implementation phase, or to the transfer of some police powers into the hands of prominent community members in remote and isolated areas. According to Arnstein’s ladder of citizen engagement (1969; see Fig. 5.1), there are many levels to that engagement, in terms of intensity of engagement by all parties within an initiative, but also in terms of purpose: from manipulation to placation or ‘window-dressing’ (basic communicative engagement for the sole purpose of ticking a box and looking good), to actual energetic activities on the ground, encompassing all communities and organisations. Many top-level engagement initiatives (e.g., empowerment and self-­ determination, according to Arnstein’s ladder; 1969) have been directed at the prevention of violence (Bowen et al. 2004), and the prevention of the escalation

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5  Community Engagement CITIZEN POWER • Citizen Control • Delegated Power • Partnership TOKENISM • Placation • Consultation • Informing NON-PARTICIPATION • Therapy • Manipulation

Fig. 5.1  Arnstein’s (1969) ladder of citizen participation

of minor deviant behaviour into more aggressive forms of criminality. As such, many community engagement initiatives have focused on capturing the views and the participation of previously estranged groups, such as youth, into violence prevention efforts (Zeldin 2004). Some initiatives targeting engagement with vulnerable people have progressed to a significant extent with some of the most vulnerable communities; however, some of these initiatives have been recently curtailed. For example, police were banned from 2019 LGBTIQ+ events in some American and Canadian communities (see the links to Bain 2019 and Levin 2019 below). Engagement practices usually start with community leaders, who are considered representatives of their entire community, and who hold a level of care ­towards their members. The cultivation of relationships towards identifying areas of concern and safety issues is important. As per the principles of engagement, however, those relationships rest on the willingness of (community and police) leaders to listen to the community (and to each other) and create open communication channels in safe environments (Scott et al. 2016). It is also reliant on the community recognising those leaders as representative of the community’s perspectives. Sometimes, as with counter-terrorism strategies, religious leaders are appointed to represent the community, but younger people may not recognise them as such. The encouragement of this willingness is however an ongoing endeavour, which is not given much attention in terms of skills acquisition. Engaging with communities

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requires specific abilities in terms of communication, planning, and consultation, and so on. However, training in pure engagement tactics are unfortunately limited to communication techniques, taught at recruit/cadet levels and then honed (hopefully) once on the beat. One of the major issues faced by those who actively engage, especially in policing, is the notion of measuring engagement. While there exist many studies across various fields of research that assess some (usually very localised) engagement initiatives of various nature, purpose, and forms, much of the scientific and policy literature criticises the fact that ‘…we need better, more useful and effective tools to describe and assess engagement’ (LeClus 2012, 22). Studies in Southern Africa have highlighted the lack of transferability and generalisability potential of such evaluations, due to the heterogeneity and uniqueness of some communities (Musesengwa and Chimbari 2017). But more problematically, evaluations have trouble measuring, in terms of collaborative endeavours, the kinds of return on investment for each ‘party’ that contributes to the initiative. This is problematic in a new public management environment where government bodies have to annually demonstrate and justify the spending of their allocated resources. As noted by Holland (2009 cited in LeClus 2012, 25), ‘ [i]f the essence of the work is collaborative, then attribution, costs, and benefits become much more difficult to define and measure’. While definitions are always useful for any kind of evaluation strategy (as they allow for the identification of targets, actions, and key performing indicators), which types of engagement with which communities is always a challenging question in policing. Indeed, community engagement (with communities or communities of practice) is often defined as the mechanisms through which a police organisation can better achieve its goals (law enforcement, peace keeping and public safety or public protection). If these goals, however, are articulated in relation to specific communities (particularly vulnerable communities, acknowledging that local communities and vulnerable communities largely overlap in terms of attributes and scope) then, we reach levels of complexity that warrant attention. According to the Home Office, Active Citizenship Centre: Community engagement encompasses a variety of approaches whereby public service bodies empower citizens to consider and express their views on how their particular needs are best met. These may range from encouraging people to have a say on setting the priorities for community safety, through involving them in shaping and supporting health improvement programmes for themselves, to sharing decision-­ making with them in relation to defined services. (Rogers and Robinson 2004, 1)

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One of the key factors for community engagement to work is assuring that community members are ‘willing’ and ‘able’ to get involved (Rogers and Robinson 2004). One of the main issues with this statement is that it has not always been the case for vulnerable people. There are several structural, political, and historical reasons for this, including exclusion, capacity, and compounding vulnerability.

Exclusion We have shown in other chapters that police relationships with vulnerable people are often tense, as a result of stormy histories of conflicts, public confrontations, and over-policing. This results in vulnerable people sitting at the frontier of policing and not always being allowed to come in. Being the ‘outsider looking-in’ has been a critique often made of the positioning of vulnerable people outside the periphery of the decision making process. It has only been rather recently that some outsiders have been allowed in for critical discussions of strategies, tactics, and policies. In some situations, community members may not be willing to engage in discussions with police; neither would police be willing to engage in discussions with some vulnerable people.

Capacity Some attributes of vulnerability have traditionally (and paternalistically) been associated with the idea of naiveté, innocence, or lack of maturity. While this is now decried in literature (even the most vulnerable, or the youngest, can have a say about their conditions and circumstances), this traditional comprehension of the vulnerable subject as ‘in-capable’, and therefore unable to bring worth to a discussion, still permeates some political forums where the perceived understanding is that others’ know better. Critical disability theory is currently gaining traction in scholarly and policy forums.

Compounding Vulnerability The vulnerability of some can, understandably, aggravate with time or in particular circumstances. As a natural risk-averse organisation, police can be hesitant to engage in conversations where the harm experienced by a vulnerable person could escalate by virtue of this conversation (almost like iatrogenic situations).

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Case Scenario Community Engagement and Counter-­Terrorism

Adrian Cherney (2018), a scholar who has documented the usefulness of community-based initiatives in the policing fight to counter terrorism, suggests that there is benefit in promoting ‘…collaborative problem-solving between police and community members to tackle radicalisation’ (2018, 60). Such collaboration goes beyond a simple exercise in intelligence gathering, and have, as a focus, the fostering of trust between police and communities that have traditionally been seen as ‘the enemy within’ (Bartkowiak-­Théron and Asquith 2019b; Body-Gendrot 1998; Bowling and Phillips 2003). According to Cherney, whose research focused on the Muslim community, the key attributes for such engagement initiatives to function are high levels of interaction with as many community stakeholders as possible, and with figures of authority that reflect the ability to engage, and benevolence and integrity towards these initiatives. He highlights that engagement must be ‘…transparent and inclusive in the sense of police engaging all identity groups’ locally (Cherney 2018, 63). The PREVENT initiative, albeit controversial and under review as of 2019, has been a strategy put forward to divert people from involvement in terrorism, or supporting it in any way or form (financially, verbally, etc.). As a multi-faceted strategy that has gained proponents and opponents around the world, its focus on targeting and countering radicalisation has been both a success story, as well as a much decried initiative focussing on misunderstanding around vulnerability. One of the first steps in PREVENT is the destabilisation of the communication forums that promote any ideology of terrorism. These forums are usually and primarily web-based, and target the more isolated members of the community, often in situations of marginalisation and deprivation. Because radicalisation is a long endeavour, it can be disrupted by way of various positive interventions, such as (re-)engagement of community members, which is thought to interrupt attempts at rallying vulnerable people into a radicalised narrative. Because PREVENT is a whole of government (and non-government) initiative, the areas of action to target radicalisation efforts sit in community engagement in areas such as education, faith, community health, community and criminal justice, as well as charity groups. PREVENT has been criticised for its approach of vulnerability. Richards (2011), in particular, insists that vulnerability sits nicely within the wide PREVENT remit (vulnerable people are targeted in terrorists’ attempts at radi-

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calisation). However, he argues that constructing terrorism as solely a product of vulnerability is problematic, given that terrorism often involves rational, sometimes wide-­scoped and calculated acts of violence, in which case, the vulnerability of the offender may not be relevant. Heath-Kelly (2013), also warns against the creation of vulnerability indicators for radicalisation, which can destabilise the narrative around policy-­making and knowledge production. ◄ A View from the Frontline

Rebuilding broken relationships between police and vulnerable communities is a complex endeavour requiring more than reliance on accountability and oversight mechanisms. It requires strategies enabling stakeholders to understand each other’s issues and establishing a working environment built on co-­operation, capacity development, and problem-solving. The challenge for both police and advocates for vulnerable community members is stepping away from the adversarial and blaming modes of engagement to find common ground, common language and effective action-based solutions which can be delivered at the operational level to catalyse real change in the policing experiences of vulnerable community members. In Vanuatu, an increasing volume of vulnerable young people are at risk of negative police contact. Projects like the Youth Justice Symposium and the Youth Justice Forum (Evans and Farrell 2015) aim to bridge the knowledge gaps between young people and the formal justice system, including the rights and responsibilities of both law enforcement and community members under cultural customs and laws. Once a common ground established, youth were able to empower themselves as positive change agents working in partnership with police and their local communities on crime prevention initiatives. Sex work in South Africa is criminalised, with the vulnerabilities faced by sex workers compounded by high levels of stigma, discrimination, violence, and barriers to justice. Policing behaviour towards sex workers is well documented including violent assaults, rape and sexual assault, unlawful arrest, and detention, exacerbated by endemic police corruption. Formal policing oversight mechanisms are rarely effective in delivering improved outcomes for sex workers. A 2018 study (Evans and Walker 2018) illustrates the personal, public health and safety risks experienced when police fail to support (continued)

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(continued) vulnerable populations. In 2008, a sex worker was violently assaulted, throttled, and raped at a location known as ‘The Bush’. The suspect was apprehended, but released from custody without charge once the victim identified herself as a sex worker. Eight years later, this same offender continued to violently rape sex workers at The Bush. Police continued to burn condoms and medications supplied by public health services and had threatened to arrest sex workers seeking to provide witness statements about a colleague’s murder. It’s unsurprising that many of the sex workers at The Bush choose not to report crimes to police. This breakdown in policing allows violent offenders to prey on sex workers with impunity, contributing to heightened public health and safety risks including gender-based violence, HIV/AIDS and sexually transmitted infection (STI) transmissions. In an attempt to change policing relations, the Positive Policing Partnership (PPP) approach was developed in South Africa by Sonke Gender Justice, SWEAT (Sex Worker Education & Advocacy Taskforce), Sisonke Sex Worker Movement, and other partners. The PPP is designed to move away from the traditionally adversarial policing, to establishing capacity building, action-­ based partnerships between police and vulnerable communities like sex workers. The project and advocacy learnings on working with police on issues affecting vulnerable populations are reported in the Journal of Community Safety & Well-being (Evans et al. 2019). Donna Evans RMIT University

Conclusion While community engagement is, at least in policy, something that police organisations often strive for, community engagement with vulnerable people has often been hesitant, if not partial or patchy. Vulnerability itself, or rather, the perceptions of dis-ability or in-capacity associated to vulnerability, are to be blamed for such a disappointing outcome. The oft practical demise of community engagement also has to do with the exercise limiting itself to the most mundane of participatory forms. Community engagement is a long-haul, extensive, and expensive practice. To use a colloquial expression, it is also an ungrateful mistress, in that it gives up the moment one does not look after it. As a goal post for any

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government organisation that claims or wants to be attuned to the needs of its communities, it needs specific resources and sustainment that are often lacking, because they go beyond the scope of business priorities that are set up by organisational performance indicators and reporting measures. It is, however, a much needed and crucially missing component of policing anywhere one wants to look. The need is particularly felt amongst the vulnerable communities that have long suffered fractured relationships with law enforcement. If the willingness to collaborate and engage does not come from one, in a way the other cannot be blamed for not wanting to engage either.

Activities (1) Peelian Policing Pillars 2 and 3 state that police should: 2. recognise always that the power of the police to fulfil their functions and duties is dependent on public approval of their existence, actions, and behaviour, and on their ability to secure and maintain public respect; 3. recognise always that to secure and maintain the respect and approval of the public means also the securing of the willing cooperation of the public in the task of securing observance of laws.

Reflect on these principles, and write down how this impacts on your own individual understanding or practice of policing. Also, think of how Pillars 2 and 3 relate to Pillar 4: 4. recognise always that the extent to which the cooperation of the public can be secured diminishes proportionately the necessity of the use of physical force and compulsion for achieving police objectives.

Readings and Resources Bain, B. (2019, June 21). Queers and trans say no to police presence at Pride parade. The Conversation. Retrieved May 12, 2020, from https://theconversation.com/queers-­and-­ trans-­say-­no-­to-­police-­presence-­at-­pride-­parade-­108643. College of Policing. (2013). Engagement and communication. Retrieved July 14, 2020, from https://www.app.college.police.uk/app-­content/engagement-­and-­communication/ engaging-­with-­communities/.

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Groundwork USA. (2020). Inclusive community engagement. Retrieved May 13, 2020, from https://groundworkusa.org/eqdev_category/inclusive-­community-­ engagement/. Levin, S. (2019, June 14). ‘Police are a force of terror’: The LGBT activists who want cops out of Pride. The Guardian. Retrieved April 22, 2020, from https://www.theguardian. com/world/2019/jun/13/cops-­out-­of-­pride-­lgbt-­police. Local Government Association. (2018). Revitalising town centres: A toolkit for councils. Retrieved July 12, 2020, from https://www.local.gov.uk/topics/economic-­growth/ revitalising-­town-­centres-­toolkit-­councils. Moore, T., McDonald, M., McHugh-Dillon, H., & West, S. (2016). Community engagement: A strategy for improving outcomes for Australian families. CFCA Paper, 39. Retrieved June 15, 2020, from https://aifs.gov.au/cfca/sites/default/files/cfca39-­community-­ engagement.pdf. Reich, R., Schwartz, D., & Pope, D. (2018). Ethics and civic engagement [audio interview]. Retrieved July 10, 2020, from https://ed.stanford.edu/news/how-­teachers-­and-­schools-­ can-­support-­civic-­engagement. Schulz, W., & Fraillon, J. (2012). Students’ participation in and valuing of civic engagement at school. In Conference Proceedings the Annual Conference of the American Education Research Association, Vancouver, 13–17 April 2012. Retrieved July 13, 2020, from https://research.acer.edu.au/civics/14.

Bibliography Albrecht, J. F. (2019). Promoting enhanced public participation and community engagement in policing. In J. F. Albrecht et al. (Eds.), Policing and minority communities. New York: Springer. Arnstein, S. R. (1969). A ladder of citizen participation. Journal of the American Institute of Planners, 35(8), 216–224. Bartkowiak-Théron, I. (2011). Community engagement and public trust in the police: A pragmatic view on police and community relationships and liaison schemes. Australasian Policing, 2(3), 31–32. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2012b). The extraordinary intricacies of policing vulnerability. Australasian Policing: Journal of Professional Practice and Research, 4(2), 43–49. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2019b). Policing ethnic minorities: Disentangling a landscape of conceptual and practice tensions. In S. Ratuva (Ed.), The Palgrave handbook of ethnicity (pp. 1–24). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Jaccoud, M. (2008). New directions in Canadian justice: From state workers to community ‘representatives’. In J. Shapland (Ed.), Justice, community and civil society: A contested terrain (pp. 209–234). Cullompton: Willan Publishing. Body-Gendrot, S. (1998). Les villes face à l’insécurité: des ghettos américains aux banlieues françaises [Cities facing insecurity: From American ghettos to French suburbs]. Paris: Bayard.

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Bowen, L. K., Gwiasda, V., & Brown, M. M. (2004). Engaging community residents to prevent violence. Journal of Interpersonal Violence, 19(3), 356–367. Bowling, B., & Phillips, C. (2003). Policing ethnic minorities. In T.  Newburn (Ed.), Handbook of policing (pp. 528–555). Cullompton: Willian Publishing. Cherney, A. (2018). Police community engagement and outreach in a counterterrorism context. Journal of Policing, Intelligence and Counter Terrorism, 13(1), 60–79. Evans, D., & Farrell, D. (2015). Youth Justice Forum Pilot Project Final Report. Suva, Fiji: University of the South Pacific, and Wan Smolbag Theatre. Evans, D., Richter, M., & Katumba, M. (2019). Policing of sex work in South Africa: The positive policing partnership approach. Canadian Journal of Community Safety, 4(4), 80–85. Evans, D., & Walker, R. (2018). The policing of sex work in South Africa: A research report on the human rights challenges across two South African provinces. Sonke Gender Justice. Heath-Kelly, C. (2013). Counter-terrorism and the counterfactual: Producing the ‘radicalisation’ discourse and the UK PREVENT strategy. The British Journal of Politics and International Relations, 15(3), 394–415. Le Clus, M. (2012). Tracking and measuring engagement: A review of the literature. Australasian Journal of University-Community Engagement, 7(1), 21–38. Lockey, S., Graham, L., Redman, T., Zheng, Y., Routledge, G., & Purves, L. (2019). The impact of a local community engagement intervention on residents’ fear of crime and perceptions of the police. International Journal of Police Science & Management, 21(3), 168–180. Musesengwa, R., & Chimbari, M. J. (2017). Community engagement practices in Southern Africa: Review and thematic synthesis of studies done in Botswana, Zimbabwe and South Africa. Acta Tropica, 175, 20–30. Myhill, A. (2006). Community engagement in policing: Lessons from the literature. London: UK Home Office. President’s Task Force on 21st Century Policing. (2015). Final Report of the President’s Task Force on 21st Century Policing. Washington, DC: Office of Community Oriented Policing Services. Richards, A. (2011). The problem with ‘radicalization’: The remit of ‘Prevent’ and the need to refocus on terrorism in the UK. International Affairs, 87(1), 143–152. Rogers, B., & Robinson, E. (2004). The benefits of community engagement: A review of the evidence. London: UK Home Office Communication Directorate on behalf of the Active Citizenship Centre. Scott, C., Crawford, W., & LeDuc, J. (2016). Advancing 21st century policing: Exploring the Phoenix Police Department’s best practices for building community engagement. Flagstaff, AZ: Northern Arizona University. Zeldin, S. (2004). Preventing youth violence through the promotion of community engagement and membership. Journal of Community Psychology, 32(5), 623–641.

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Working with Vulnerable Offenders

Introduction At the front end of the policing process, contact with and detention of offenders is one of the most important tipping points in policing vulnerability. It is police action at this point that can do much to alleviate the vulnerability experienced by offenders. However, it is also the point at which police can exacerbate the offender’s individual vulnerability and create iatrogenic (or system-generated) vulnerability. The mismanagement of this important tipping point in the policing process is central to much of the recent protests against policing, especially as it relates to the use of force and officer-involved deaths of suspects and offenders. While the Black Lives Matter movement has brought increased attention to these policing practices, the issues relating to police use of force have been on the radar for over 60 years (e.g., see Westley 1953). Policing history has highlighted how police actions disproportionately target vulnerable people, and the catastrophic consequences that could arise from taking action. There exist many examples throughout the world, before and during the recent coronavirus pandemic, of governments granting police exceptional powers to enforce public health strategies. Yet, from the earliest days of these exceptional powers, police were focused on the same people that they were prior to the pandemic: vulnerable people such as those without housing, Indigenous peoples, and young people. This has brought into stark relief the partial application of police powers with or without exceptional circumstances. If these people are ‘repeat customers’ © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_6

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regardless of the situational context, then the reasons for their increased likelihood of contact with the police may be due to more than their propensity for criminal behaviour.

Concepts The detention and arrest of offenders is one of the most controversial, complex, and consequential interactions that police undertake. Detaining a suspect not only has the immediately impact of loss of liberty, it also initiates a range of psycho-social consequences for the suspect as well as their family, workplace, and social networks (US Committee on Causes and Consequences of High Rates of Incarceration 2014). Detention, for example, of a single parent immediately has an impact on his or her children who may be taken into care—which sets off another set of vulnerabilities—and puts at risk their job and their financial capacity to support their children. While the impulse may be to blame the individual for their bad decisions, the individual may not feel that they had any option other than to engage in activity that is criminalised. When simply leaving your house has been criminalised (in, e.g., the case of COVID-19, but also under more generic bail conditions), it becomes clear that some people will have no other option than to skirt the law. Irrespective of the fairness of the laws governing behaviour in exceptional circumstances, or of the culpability of the suspect, the police warning and subsequent detention highlight pre-existing vulnerabilities as well as the vulnerabilising consequences of arrest. It is therefore incumbent on us to first consider the uneven application of detention and arrest; especially as it relates to the over-policing and under-policing of some vulnerable people. We know, for example, that most people detained by the police are: • Young; offending, particularly, low-level offending is most likely to be committed by people under the age of 25 years. Research has shown that young people are more likely to come in contact with the police for a variety of reasons, including their increased use of public space, likelihood of being in large groups, and their limited psycho-social skills—which are still developing up to the age of 25 years (McAra and McVie 2005; Moffitt 1993). • Without housing security; homeless people are more likely to use public space, have limited capacity to secure housing, and may need to engage in ‘poverty crimes’ (begging, food theft, break and enter) to survive (Zakrison et al. 2004).

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• Culturally or linguistically diverse; just as it is easier to identify homeless people because of their visibility on empty streets, culturally and linguistically diverse populations are more obvious all the time because of their physical and cultural differences from the majority of the population. People of Colour (PoC), Black and Minority Ethnic (BAME), and culturally and linguistically diverse (CALD) populations are over-represented in stop and searches, police warnings, and detention and prosecution (Baumgartner et  al. 2018; Owusu-­ Bempah 2016). • Indigenous; indigenous, native, or First Nations Peoples have been the target of police action from the time of colonisation, and continue to be over-represented throughout the criminal justice system. As with culturally and linguistically diverse people, indigenous peoples may be physically distinct from the cultural majority, and by way of special legislation or regulation, they are subject to increased surveillance and police action (Cunneen 2001; Cunneen and Tauri 2019). • Disabled; as with racial and ethnic communities, disabled people are often more apparent than their abled peers, and as such, their visibility may result in them being targeted by police actions. Contact with the police may be increased for some disabled people—especially those with cognitive and intellectual impairments—as a result of their incapacity to either know and/or apply the rules of law. Even when informed of the law, their disability may preclude them from remembering what they are expected not to do. It is understood that approximate 70 per cent of all prisoners have a cognitive or intellectual disability (Baldry et al. 2013; Cummins 2007). Once detained, each of these targeted populations encounter a range of policies that may appear on face-value as generic and universal but, in practice, unequally impact on these populations. It is important to be critical of why these populations are more likely to encounter police and to be detained and arrested. It is too easy to blame these people for their own behaviour. While they may be culpable for their actions—noting that mens rea is notoriously difficult to prove in case of disability—their offending is more obvious, especially in an era of ‘hot spot’ policing. Visibility, whether in exceptional or ordinary times, is critical to understanding the over-representation of vulnerable offenders.

If a population is more visible, then they are more likely to be a target for all police encounters, including community policing. Whether it is because of unsafe home environments LGBTIQ+ people; Asquith et al. 2019, 2020; Dwyer 2014),

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overcrowding at home (CALD, working class and Indigenous peoples; Dench et al. 2006; McCarty 2010; Zufferey and Chung 2015), the desire to socialise without parental and family oversight (youth and disabled people; Lauger 2014; Mill et al. 2010; Slater 2013), or simply not having a home to escape police attention (Braga 2010; McNamara et  al. 2013; Piquero 2010), some vulnerable people are more likely to be out in public. As such, they will encounter police more often than those with the privilege of conducting their criminal activity behind the safety of locked doors (homes or businesses). It is therefore important to understand how it is that police statistics appear to illustrate that some people are more likely to engage in criminal behaviour. Rather than an over-propensity for criminality, these statistics illustrate the over-policing of some, more visible populations (Crowther 2004; Ratcliffe 2016). Under-policing also needs to be considered in relation to working with offenders (Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary (HMIC) 2015; Perry 2006). It is easier to police a young person smoking a joint on the street than it is to police insider trading by wealthy entrepreneurs safe behind their security systems. White-­ collar and green-collar crimes—corporate and environmental crimes—are rarely policed, and when they are, significant resources are required to do this type of policing (Cohen 2016; White 2013). Even though they are crimes that can create greater and more widespread harm, such as the 2008 Global Financial Crisis (Minkes 2010), they are not visible to the frontline officer; nor are these crimes suitable for common policing strategies such as ‘hot spot’ policing (Braithwaite 2010; Gottschalk et  al. 2011). Under-policing also arises in ‘crimes against the powerless’. While the populations identified in the above list are more likely to be policed for their criminal behaviour, they are less likely to report their victimisation to the police, and the police are less likely to police their perpetrators (Asquith 2012; Bosick et al. 2012; Perry 2006). Under-policing is also obvious in intimate partner violence (see Chap. 11 for detailed discussion of this issue). The problem of under-policing skews police and crime statistics just as much as over-policing. As with Domestic and Family Violence (DFV), similar patterns can be identified in other forms of interpersonal violence (such as elder abuse, child abuse, and hate crimes), as well as harder to target white-collar and green-collar crimes such as dumping of toxic waste, or insider trading, or even identity fraud. As such, it is critical that police actions do not contribute to the problem by developing strategies that take crime statistics as a true picture of the problem. Not only are 50% of all crimes not ­reported to police (Ratcliffe 2016), those that are reported are policed differently depending on the characteristics of the offender and the victim and the site of the crime. This exacerbates the vulnerability of those targeted

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by police, and creates system-generated (or iatrogenic) vulnerabilities that have consequences that can last beyond an individual’s encounter with the police. Under- and over-policing distort crime statistics, and as a consequence, the police strategies devised to address the problem. These practices coalesce at the tipping point of detention and arrest, where seemingly universal processes mandated by law contribute to the targeting of particular vulnerable populations for arrest and to their detention. In the following In Practice section, we focus in on the seemingly neutral process of the police warning (or police caution, or Miranda warning), and the mandated processes and policies of detention, such as risk assessment of offenders and suspects.

In Practice The police warning and detention in custody are the points in the policing process where, if not identified, vulnerability can be exacerbated. In their report on the welfare of vulnerable people in custody, the HMIC (2015, 64) found that … the way people are treated by the police at the point of arrest was significant. It can either alleviate or exacerbate the distress and anxiety an individual is already experiencing, as well as influence how they chose to interact with officers and staff while in custody.

In this section, we consider how vulnerability shapes the police warning and custody arrangements of suspects and offenders. We also consider the implications of these two processes on black deaths in custody.

 ulnerability and the Police Warning Against V Self-­incrimination The fickle nature of selective responses to vulnerability is illustrated by the mandatory caution or warning against self-incrimination given by police officers to suspects during arrest and detention—and again, most commonly, during interview. The caution against self-incrimination is one of the first steps in the policing process where the vulnerability of an offender can be addressed. The police warning (also known as the ‘Miranda warning’) is premised on the idea that all offenders, regardless of their potential individual vulnerability, may not understand their legal rights against self-incrimination, and relatedly, their right to legal counsel. Comprehension of the police caution has been critical in overturning many cases

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since Miranda v Arizona in 1966, especially as it relates to youth, cognitively impaired suspects, and defendants with limited communication skills (such as different language competency, or hearing or speech impediment) (Rogers et al. 2007; Rost and McGregor 2012; Scherr and Madon 2012). The content and delivery of the police caution varies between jurisdictions; as does the information provided to suspects about these rights. While some are not as extensive as the US Miranda warning required of US police officers, most include the following components: You are not obliged to say or do anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say or do may be used in evidence. Do you understand? You are not obliged to say or do anything unless you wish to do so. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say and do may be given in evidence. Do you understand? Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Regulation 2005.

In some jurisdictions, the police caution is read out loud, slowly, and carefully; elsewhere, as caricatured in many police TV shows, it is delivered verbally in a rapid and rote form; sometimes it is delivered in both verbal and written form, or only in written form; and in some cases it is explained and the suspect is asked to paraphrase the warning (Oberlander and Goldstein 2001). The suspect is then asked whether they understand the warning and whether they intend to waive their rights. Understanding the police caution (and their rights whilst under arrest) is critical to offenders’ legal outcomes. Yet, as few as 5% of US suspects—and 49% of US police officers—understand the caution or its underlying principles, despite recent efforts to simplify the language of these warnings (Frumkin and Sellbom 2013; Hughes et al. 2013; Snook et al. 2016;). With respect to the language—but not legal concepts—over 60% of the general population may be able to comprehend the NSW Police Force’s Caution and Summary form (NSW Police Force 2011a) as it requires only a reading grade level of a 13 to 14-year-old (the form was assessed on the Flesh-Kincaid Grade scale as grade 8.7). However, as Jones found, approximately 70% of adult offenders have literacy problems, with many readings at levels below a 10-year-old (Jones 2014). The UK Inspectorate of Constabulary (HMIC 2015, 81) found in their review of custody procedures that police officers were proceeding with detention even when ­offenders notified them that they could not read or write. Yet, in most jurisdictions, it is only those individuals who are identified as children, hearing or cognitively impaired, in need of translation, or use a communication aid, who are offered alternatives means to have their rights communicated to them.

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While only used as a forensic tool in preparation for court, the Miranda Rights Comprehension Tool provides a set of four tests that evaluate the capacity for defendants to ‘knowingly, intelligently and voluntarily’ waive their rights (Grisso 1998; Miranda v Arizona 1966). This tool includes the ‘Comprehension of Miranda Rights II test’. The test requires suspects to paraphrase each of the five components of the Miranda warnings (Grisso 1998): ( 1) right to silence (2) statements can be used in court against the suspect (3) right to legal counsel (4) appointment of counsel if unable to afford one (5) right to silence and legal counsel can be invoked at any time. As a forensic tool, this test alone cannot provide a sufficient evaluation of the capacity to waive rights; however, as a universal precaution in policing practice, it is a crucial step in identifying those unable to ‘knowingly, intelligently and voluntarily’ participate in criminal proceedings. This test may not be practical at the point of detention, but it is a valuable tool when the police warning is repeated and recorded prior to the detention or interrogation of a suspect. In providing the caution in both verbal and written forms, and reframed as a ‘call and response’, the conversion of a one-way communication of rights into a two-way paraphrasing of those rights, comprehension from a far greater proportion of suspects is elicited (up to 40%) (Hughes et al. 2013; Snook et al. 2016). Importantly, a side effect of this approach is that a number of distinct (e.g., illiteracy, learning delay, and language comprehension) and non-apparent (acquired brain injury) vulnerabilities can be more accurately identified. Applying a universal precautions process at the point of the police caution addresses all three forms of vulnerability.

It assumes that the complex legal concepts included in the police caution are difficult to understand and that neither written nor verbal forms of this caution may be enough to elicit understanding from the majority of suspects who pass through the custody process. In applying a tool such as the ‘Comprehension of Miranda Rights II test’ to all suspects, police are able to identify vulnerabilities that are not immediately or necessarily visible even though they may be present. It also identifies specific recognisable vulnerabilities that the suspect themselves may not be willing to admit (such as acquired brain injuries; Huntley 2012). And it addresses the special, situational vulnerabilities of the police caution and protects against the possibility of iatrogenic vulnerabilities.

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Custody Strategies After the initial police warning at the point of detention or arrest, offenders’ vulnerabilities can also be identified at the point of custody. As a consequence of inappropriate, inadequate, and at time, violent custodial arrangements—often overseen by police officers—police services across the world have adopted alternative strategies to minimise the harms created by custody. As noted by the Association for the Prevention of Torture (2013): A person arrested by the police is in a situation of particular vulnerability. As the police have special powers, such as the lawful use of force, the detainee is completely in the hands of the law enforcement agents. This imbalance of power creates a situation of risk…

Further, as noted by the HMIC (2015, 52), while some people detained in police custody are ‘not inherently vulnerable’: Individuals may be vulnerable in a given context and not in another. In the context of police custody, vulnerability will increase to some extent for all detainees, but will particularly increase for people with a minority status as compared to the overall population and to the detaining officers.

In their Code of Practice for custody, NSW Police Force (2012a, 36) cautions officers that their actions can influence detainees, especially in terms of self-harm. They suggest that officers need to be ‘sensitive’—particularly, with young and first time detainees—to: • • • • •

indignity and shame of arrest imagined police harassment fear of the legal process social and employment consequences fear of confinement.

These factors apply to all suspects detained in custody, but may be exacerbated for offenders and suspects who are vulnerable prior to the situational vulnerability of custody. The most common innovation is to remove the custodial process from the officers who have a stake in the detention of the suspect. The creation of independent custody officers, such as those developed by Victoria Police in Australia (2020), and in most UK policing services (Dehaghani 2016), removes frontline officers from the responsibility for processing suspects into custody. Most democratic

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policing services aim to ensure that custody procedures sit with staff other than the arresting officer, and that these custody officers receive specialist training to support their unique tasks. These provisions for a separation between arrest and custody can be waived under some circumstances; for example, it is difficult in smaller, rural patrols to enact this separation (NSW Police Force 2012a). Other jurisdictions have created monitoring processes, including custody visitors, who provide an independent evaluation of the conditions of custody. While these types of programmes are more likely to be utilised in prisons, the Association for the Prevention of Torture (2013) note that some of the most egregious violence against suspects and offenders occurs in police custody. Therefore, in line with the goals of the UK National Preventative Mechanism, Independent Custody Visitors make unannounced visits to police custody to ‘…check on the rights, entitlements, wellbeing and dignity of detainees held in police custody’ (Independent Custody Visiting Association 2020). This programme, independent of police, is funded by the UK Home Office, Policing Authority and the Police and Crime Commissioners in each service.

Black Deaths in Custody In Australia, a bespoke oversight mechanism for Indigenous suspects and offenders was devised in the wake of the Royal Commission into Black Deaths in Custody for Indigenous Australians (Australian Government 1991). This approach requires police to notify the Custody Notification Service of the detention of an Indigenous person, who is then provided with support and referral relevant to their case, including provision for family and community visits whilst in custody (NSW Police Force 2012b). This approach has been taken not only to account for cultural and linguistic differences that may impact on police processes such as custody, but to limit the likelihood of an aboriginal person dying in police custody. In Australia, aboriginal people are detained and arrested at higher rates than their non-­Indigenous peers (Australian Government 1991; Cunneen and Porter 2017). They also represent approximately one in five custody deaths (Gannoni and Bricknell 2019), despite constituting only 2.5% of the population. As Anthony (2016; emphasis in original) notes, ‘[i]ndigenous people were more likely to die in custody because they were more likely to be in custody’. In addition to recruiting more Indigenous police officers, other strategies are required to address the issues of over-policing and custody deaths. Self-policing has been adopted in some remote Indigenous communities in Canada (particularly in Quebec), as well as in aboriginal communities in Australia, which has resulted in fewer arrests and fewer deaths in custody (Blagg and Valuri 2004). Porter (2016, 557) argues that self-policing strategies ‘…attempt to produce “security” in the sense that they attempt to improve feelings of safety and to counter the negative

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impacts of the criminal justice system for Indigenous young people’ but they are not the police nor do they ‘…do the police person’s job’ (Patrol worker #5 cited in Porter 2016, 558). In fact, she suggests that even the perception that Indigenous patrols were linked to formalised policing would undermine the trust they seek to build. The patrols’ independence from state policing is critical to their efficacy in diverting vulnerable people from policing and criminal justice. The experiences of Indigenous Australians highlight the links between over-­ policing and the iatrogenic harm created in detaining Indigenous peoples. Similar patterns of over-policing and deaths in custody can be seen in other colonised nations such as Canada, New Zealand, the US (Cunneen and Tauri 2019). And as in the Australian context, Indigenous communities throughout the world have proposed a number of ways to reduce contact between police and Indigenous communities, and to reduce their likelihood of dying whilst in police custody.

Custody and Risk Assessment As noted by the UK National Police Chiefs’ Council (NPCC) (2017), ‘ [p]olice custody is not always the appropriate response for an individual, despite its legal provision in statute, for example when dealing with children or vulnerable people, yet through necessity such individuals often find themselves in police custody’. The NPCC (2017) suggests that through more effective inter-agency collaboration with support and health services, and by adopting diversionary techniques (including ‘street triage’), many of the concerns raised by the detention of vulnerable offenders may be averted. Most democratic policing services have extensive training and guidance to prepare officers for managing suspects in custody. The deadly harms of detention— such as torture or a death in custody—are more likely in the paramilitary policing services that are the focus of the Association for the Prevention of Torture’s (2013) work. However, as demonstrated in Australia, the UK, and the US, even in the most regulated and democratic of policing services, some vulnerable suspects face increased harms from their detention. Marginalised and vulnerable offenders die in custody at higher rates than their peers; often in circumstances that could have been avoided by more robust risk and health assessments. As in most Australian jurisdictions, the NSW Police Force (2012a, 46) state: ‘…do not detain an Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander person in a cell unless no reasonably practical alternative is available’. Yet, despite directives from the Royal Commission into Black Deaths in Custody to implement a diversionary strategy for Indigenous suspects and offenders, they continue to be over-represented in custody, and in deaths in custody rates (Anthony 2016).

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If the issues of over-policing and over-representation of some vulnerable offenders in custody cannot be addressed by way of diversion, then risk assessment and intake procedures are crucial. As noted in the NSW Police Force’s CRIME Code of Practice (2012a, 21), Screening people in custody on admission is the most important step in assessing their health or potential for suicide. Alertness and awareness of these custody procedures helps you detect potentially suicidal behaviour and other serious medical problems.

In this, and similar Codes of Practice, the focus is on preventing suicide. While the risk assessment processes for preventing suicide may bring attention to other vulnerabilities in custody, this is not necessarily the intent of these provisions. Just as the police warning is a tipping point for identifying vulnerability, intake procedures deployed by custody officers are critical in mapping the vulnerability of suspects.

Some vulnerable people may mask their vulnerability, and others may not feel that their vulnerability warrants consideration by the police. Additionally, the nature and architecture of custody suites may also create a barrier to disclosure, especially when they can be ‘…overheard by others when giving sensitive information’ (HMIC 2015, 85). Given the tendency of some vulnerable people to mask their vulnerability, police officers and custody officers need clear guidance on how risk factors may present, and robust training on using and applying risk assessment tools. NSW Police Force (2012a, 21) recommends that officers consider during the custody screening process factors such as: • • • • • • • • •

medical problems severely agitated or aggressive behaviour influence of drugs or alcohol despondent behaviour or display feelings of guilt neck or wrist scars, suggesting previous self-inflicted injury threats to inflict self-injury irrationality or mentally illness history of suicidal behaviour arrested and allocation to a cell for the first time.

In the UK, the constabulary inspectorate (HMIC 2015) suggests that this list of possible vulnerabilities in custody should also include those with dual diagnosis

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(e.g., mental illness and drug dependency), people who have been in state or foster care (whether current or past), and people who have a learning or communication impairment; all of whom are over-represented throughout the criminal justice system. They also make a particular note that restraint is used more often on People of Colour, especially black people of African Caribbean descent, which exacerbates their vulnerability and risk of death in custody (HMIC 2015, 50). The right to medical attention is not inviolable; access to medical support and attention is at the custody manager’s discretion. For example, in New South Wales, if the custody officer does not believe a detainee needs medical attention, or that the request for medical assistance is not reasonable, it can be withheld (Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Act 2002, s.129). This creates immediate problems for those the custody manager does not believe require medical assistance, and it can also lead to a death in custody. Police officers are not medically trained; they are likely to have basic first aid, but not the medical knowledge to assess the clinical impact that detention can have on a suspect. The HMIC (2015) in the UK, in their National Strategy for Police Custody note that intake procedures are critical for some vulnerable people who end up in custody through no fault of their own, and in the absence of crime activity. In their inspection of six UK policing services, the HMIC (2015) noted that children, people with mental illness, and people with dementia were found in custody, not due to criminal behaviour, but due to a lack of health and welfare services. As the only 24/7 service (apart from hospital accident and emergency departments), police are often required to safeguard people until these services become available. This is an inappropriate use of police services, and the unlawful detention of people who have not committed a crime can exacerbate pre-existing vulnerabilities (HMIC 2015). The HMIC (2015, 19) was particularly critical of the detention of children. Even in the context of legislative mandates on the care for children, ‘…some police officers did not regard all children as vulnerable. They saw the offence first, and the fact that it involved a child as secondary’ and that ‘…some vulnerable adults and children are being criminalised unnecessarily’. Further, despite integrated training on vulnerable people, too often UK police officers substituted the available evidence with their own personal experiences and judgements (HMIC 2015, 19). Given the high levels of invulnerability required in police recruitment, it is unlikely that the average police officer would be personally cognisant of how vulnerability impacts on criminal behaviour, and in turn, the outcomes of criminal justice processes. One strategy for identifying vulnerability in detention is the Vulnerability Assessment Framework developed by Wright and McGlen (2012), and adopted by the UK College of Policing (2016) to address the mental health of offenders. Implemented in many police jurisdictions, this ABCDE model (see Fig. 6.1) assists police in assessing the vulnerability of detainees, and in responding to those

In Practice

A = APPEARANCE • Is there somthing about their appearance that is unusual or gives rise for concern? • Do they look ill, injured, unsettled, anxious? • What is the demeanour of the person? • Is there a physical problem (e.g. bleeding, panic attack)?

B = BEHAVIOUR • Is there something about their behaviour that is unusual or gives rise for concern? • Are they excitable, irrational, manic, slow, furtive? • What are they doing and is it in keeping with the situation?

C = COMMUNICATION • Is there something about the way that they communicate that is unusual or gives rise for concern? • Is there speech slurred, slow, fast? • Are the eyes glazed, staring, dilates? • What is their body language and are they displaying any subtle signs of stress or fear? • Do they understand your questions?

D = DANGER • Is there a risk of danger and/or harm to themselves or another person?

E = ENVIRONMENT • Is there something about the environment that is unusual or gives rise for concern? • What is the time of day? • Where do they live? Can they get home? • Has the incident that they are involved in significantly affected their circumstances? • What are the circumstances? Are they unusual or out of the ordinary?

Fig. 6.1  ABCDE vulnerability assessment framework (adapted from MPS 2015)

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identified vulnerabilities. In Scotland, it is mandatory that such an assessment is conducted prior to a suspect or offender being placed in custody (Police Scotland 2019, s9.2.5). The presence of three or more of these factors compels custody officers to instigate a risk management plan. Additional guidance on the Vulnerability Assessment Framework is provided by Public Health England (2015), and the Humberside Police (2018) in the UK have created a guidance document that considers vulnerability in terms of type of crimes presented at custody. Case Scenario

Ms Dhu and Black Deaths in Custody This case stems from the arrest and detention of 22-year-old Yamatji woman, Ms Dhu by the Western Australian Police in August 2014. As is customary for Indigenous Australians who have died, Ms Dhu’s given names are not used in line with aboriginal naming customs. Ms Dhu’s experiences of police custody are not unique. Since handing down the findings of the Royal Commission into Black Deaths in Custody (1991), over 400 Indigenous Australians have died in police custody or prison (Allam et  al. 2020). What is exceptional about Ms Dhu’s case is the complex interplay between racial profiling, imprisonment for outstanding fines, and domestic violence. On 2 August 2014, the Western Australian Police were called to Ms Dhu’s home after receiving a report that her estranged partner had breached an apprehended violence order. Instead of responding to Ms Dhu as a victim, on finding that she had outstanding fines of $3622 for minor offences (such as disorderly conduct, failing to give her name and address, and obstruction of justice), the police arrested both Ms Dhu and her estranged partner. Ms Dhu was ­ordered by the magistrate to serve four days in custody to pay part of the outstanding fines. Ms Dhu complained to police during custody intake that she was experiencing pain. The police gave her two paracetamol tablets and returned her to the police cell. Later that evening she was transported to the local health service, and was assessed at the second lowest triage score. She was given Endone (pain killer) and Diazepam (anti-anxiety medication) and assessed as well enough to return to police custody. When starting his shift on 3 August, Sergeant Bond was notified of her condition, and contacted her family to ascertain their capacity to pay her fines to enable her release. At this time, the family disclosed that Ms Dhu was a drug

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user. After receiving this information, Sergeant Bond assessed Ms Dhu as faking her pain to get out of custody. Later in the afternoon, when it was clear that the pain was continuing, she was returned to the Hedland Health Campus. Despite her cries of pain, and being dehydrated and tachycardic, the attending nurse believed that these symptoms could be the result of drug withdrawal. Ms Dhu was returned to custody, with only paracetamol to manage the pain. CCTV footage, captured during her time in custody at the South Hedland police station, shows police officers taunting Ms Dhu, and bringing another prisoner into her cell to show what happens when you abuse drugs. By the morning of 4 August, Ms Dhu was unable to stand and requested to be returned to the health service. Sergeant Bond informed his colleagues at handover that Ms Dhu was a ‘junkie’ who was faking her illness, and his assessment was not questioned by other officers. Before ending his shift, he said to Ms Dhu that ‘You’re a fucking junkie and you’ve been to hospital twice before and this is not fucking on’. After agreeing to the ‘last fucking time you’re going to hospital’, CCTV footage shows Sergeant Bond forcing Ms Dhu into a sitting position, but when he let go of her arm, she slumped down and hit her head on the concrete floor of the cell. With the assistance of another officer, Sergeant Bond and a­ nother officer carried her ‘like a kangaroo’ to the back of the police van. On arrival at the Hedland Health Campus for the third time, police informed the medical staff that ‘she’s putting it on; she’s faking’. The nurse found that Ms Dhu had had a heart attack. Despite attempting to resuscitate her for nearly an hour, Ms Dhu died. All the while, the attending police officers continued to claim that she was faking her condition. The Coroner found that Ms Dhu died of easily preventable, pneumonia and sepsis—the latter was the result of broken ribs caused by Ms Dhu’s estranged partner. Comprehensive policies and standard operating procedures for the management of all people in custody, and special provisions for Indigenous detainees exist. Yet, the Coroner found that the Western Australian Police officers, along with some of the health providers, breached their duty of care, racially profiled Ms Dhu, and underestimated the health concerns that she constantly reported. In her evidence to the Coroner’s inquiry, Professor Sandra Thompson stated that if Ms Dhu had been a white middle-class person, ‘…there would have been much more effort made to understand what was going on with that person’s pain. So that’s what institutional racism represents’ (Fogliani 2016). ◄

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A View from the Frontline

As the Inspector in charge of the Division, I was sitting on a squad parade one day before the start of their shift. I heard the members talking about Vicki. They were making derogatory comments about her and talking about what a problem she was, as she engaged in antisocial behaviour as well as selling drugs to support her own addiction. I asked them what they knew about Vicki’s story. The denigration continued until I stopped it to tell her story. I have known Vicki for over 20 years. My very first contact with her was tragic, and exposed me to a level of vulnerability I had not ever seen. I was walking a foot patrol, one late evening, in my designated area. I saw the door of a sedan fling open and a young girl run from the car. I chased after the young woman to make sure she was safe. When I caught up to her she was crying and distraught. Once I was able to calm her down, she told me that she was working the street and that this was her first ‘date’ as a sex trade worker. She stated that she was performing a ‘blow job’ on the male and vomited in his lap because of the smell and her gag reflex. Vicki’s mother, who was also a sex trade worker with a substantial addiction to crack cocaine, turned her out on the street to make money. This first meeting took place long before Vicki became consumed by her own addiction, but one could argue that the trauma from this and many other incidents in her life lead her down that path. Over the years I have had many interactions with Vicki, some positive and some negative. One day, she and I were having a talk about her life. Vicki spoke about her mother putting her on the street and said in a voice that I can only describe as innocent sadness, ‘I have two other sisters, my mom never did that to them, I have always wondered why mom put me out to work the street and not them’. The compounded trauma of betrayal added to Vicki’s vulnerability. Far too often in policing we only look at the individual in the moment of time that we interact with them. We fail, on many levels, to understand who the justice client is, and what their entire story is. The majority of women who are involved in the criminal justice system are victims long before they become offenders (Jones et al. 2019). Policing vulnerability comes with the (continued)

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(continued) need to want to be aware of the story in its entirety. This can allow us to work towards addressing the trauma behind the actions of the individuals. This knowledge does not excuse the behaviour, but it allows us as justice actors to understand it, and as a result help the person through it. Inspector Dan Jones Edmonton Police Service

Conclusion Vulnerability can arise at various points in the policing process. Yet, it is at the critical tipping points of warning and detention in custody that pre-existing and iatrogenic vulnerabilities are most obvious. They are key points in the policing process where some of the harms caused by vulnerability may be addressed. In resolving issues of vulnerability at this front end of policing, there is the possibility to ameliorate the harms that could be generated further down the criminal justice processes, such as unsafe convictions. It could also address some of the critical ­issues raised by the Black Lives Matter movement, particularly in terms of safeguarding and protecting the wellbeing of those detained by police. Identifying and assessing the vulnerability risks of offenders in custody will not only manage these risks whilst being processed by the police but will also lead to increased police capability of addressing these issues for all vulnerable people.

Activities (1) Without referring to any additional materials, write in your own words what each of the Miranda warnings mean. You can use those contained in the US Miranda warning below, or you can download the police warning provided in your own jurisdiction. • right to silence • statements can be used in court against the suspect • right to legal counsel

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• appointment of counsel if unable to afford one • right to silence and legal counsel can be invoked at any time. Consider how easy or difficult this task was and reflect on who you know that may not be able to undertake this task. (2) Download and review the police custody policies and practices in your jurisdiction, and consider how the current approach may not be ideal for Indigenous people. What are the gaps? What seemingly ‘universal’ policies may not be ideal for Indigenous people? What more can your jurisdiction do to reduce the individual vulnerabilities of Indigenous detainees, and to avoid the iatrogenic (or system-generated) exacerbation of vulnerability?

Readings and Resources Humberside Police. (2018). Your guide to vulnerability: Advice for daily decision making. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://www.safernel.co.uk/wp-­content/uploads/2018/03/Vulnerability-­Booklet.pdf. Public Health England. (2015). Health and justice health needs assessment guidance: Police custody (Part 3 of the health and justice health needs assessment toolkit for prescribed places of detention). London: Public Health England. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/774654/Police_custody_HNA__template_FINAL2015_.pdf. Rogers, B., & Robinson, E. (2004). The benefits of community engagement: A review of the evidence. London: UK Home Office Communication Directorate on behalf of the Active Citizenship Centre. Spinifex Gum (featuring Feliz Riebl & Marliya). (2017). Ms Dhu [song]. Hase Media. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://vimeo.com/198723333. UK National Police Chiefs’ Council (NPCC). (2017). National strategy for police custody. London: NPCC United Nations General Assembly. (1965). International convention on the elimination of all forms of racial discrimination. United Nations Treaty Series, 660. United Nations General Assembly. (1989). Convention on the rights of the child. United Nations Treaty Series, 1577. United Nations General Assembly. (2003). Optional protocol to the convention against torture and other cruel, inhuman and degrading treatment or punishment, A/RES/57/199. United Nations General Assembly. (2007). Convention on the rights of persons with disabilities, A/RES/61/106.

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Bibliography Allam, L., Wahlquist, C., Banister, J., & Herbert, M. (2020, August 28). Deaths inside. The Guardian. Retrieved from https://www.theguardian.com/australia-­news/ng-­ interactive/2018/aug/28/deaths-­inside-­indigenous-­australian-­deaths-­in-­custody. Anthony, T. (2016, April 13). Deaths in custody: 25 years after the royal commission, we’ve gone backwards. The Conversation. Retrieved from https://theconversation.com/deaths-­ in-­custody-­25-­years-­after-­the-­royal-­commission-­weve-­gone-­backwards-­57109. Asquith, N.  L. (2012). Vulnerability and the art of complaint making. In I.  Bartkowiak-­ Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 147–164). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Asquith, N.  L., Collison, A., Lewis, L., Noonan, K., Layard, E., Kaur, G., Bellei, F., & Yigiter, E. (2019). Home is where our story begins: CALD LGBTIQ+ people’s relationships to family. Current Issues in Criminal Justice, 31(3), 311–332. Asquith, N.L., Collison, A., Noonan, K., Layard, E., Kaur, G. (2020). Home is where our story begins: Family, community, and belonging for sexuality & gender diverse CALD people. Sydney: NSW LGBTIQ Domestic & Family Violence Interagency, ACON, Western Sydney University. Association for the Prevention of Torture. (2013). Monitoring police custody—A practical guide. Geneva: APT. Australian Government. (1991). Report on the Royal Commission into Black Deaths in Custody. Canberra: Parliament of Australia Baldry, E., Clarence, M., Dowse, L., & Trollor, J. (2013). Reducing vulnerability to harm in adults with cognitive disabilities in the Australian criminal justice system. Journal of Policy and Practice in Intellectual Disabilities, 10(3), 222–229. Baumgartner, F. R., Epp, D. A., & Shoub, K. (2018). Suspect citizens: What 20 million traffic stops tell us about policing and race. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Blagg, H., & Valuri, G. (2004). Aboriginal community patrols in Australia: Self-policing, self-determination and security. Policing and Society, 14(4), 313–328. Bosick, S. J., Rennison, C. M., Gover, A. R., & Dodge, M. (2012). Reporting violence to the police: Predictors through the life course. Journal of Criminal Justice, 40(6), 441–451. Braga, A. A. (2010). The police, disorder, and the homeless. Criminology & Public Policy, 9(4), 807–811. Braithwaite, J. (2010). Diagnostics of white-collar crime prevention. Criminology & Public Policy, 9(3), 621–626. Cohen, M. A. (2016). The costs of white-collar crime. In S. R. van Slyke, M. L. Benson, & F. T. Cullen (Eds.), The Oxford handbook of white-collar crime (pp. 78–98). Oxford: Oxford University Press. College of Policing. (2016). Authorised professional practice: Mental health. London: College of Policing. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://www.app.college.police. uk/mental-­health-­index-­2/. Crowther, C. (2004). Over-policing and under-policing social exclusion. In R.  Hopkins Burke (Ed.), Hard cop, soft cop (pp. 54–68). London: Willan. Cummins, I. (2007). Boats against the current: Vulnerable adults in police custody. Journal of Adult Protection, 9(1), 15–24.

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Cunneen, C. (2001). Conflict, politics and crime: Aboriginal communities and the police. St Leonards, NSW: Allen and Unwin. Cunneen, C., & Porter, A. (2017). Indigenous peoples and criminal justice in Australia. In A. Deckert & R. Sarre (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of Australian and New Zealand criminology, crime and justice (pp. 667–682). Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Cunneen, C., & Tauri, J. (2019). Violence and indigenous communities. In W. DeKeseredy, C. Rennison, & A. Hall-Sanchez (Eds.), The Routledge international handbook of violence studies (pp. 350–361). New York: Routledge. Dehaghani, R. (2016). He’s just not that vulnerable: Exploring the implementation of the appropriate adult safeguard in police custody. The Howard Journal of Crime and Justice, 55(4), 396–413. Dench, G., Gavron, K., & Young, M. (2006). The new east end: Kinship, race and conflict. London: Profile Books. Dwyer, A. (2014). ‘We’re not like these weird feather boa-covered AIDS-spreading monsters’: How LGBT young people and service providers think riskiness informs LGBT youth-police interactions. Critical Criminology, 22(1), 65–79. Fogliani, R. V. C. (2016). Record of investigation into death (Julieka Ivanna Dhu). Perth: Western Australian Government. Frumkin, B., & Sellbom, M. (2013). Miranda rights comprehension instruments: A critical review. Assessment, 20(5), 545–554. Gannoni, A., & Bricknell, S. (2019). Indigenous deaths in custody: 25 years since the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. Australian Institute of Criminology Statistical Bulletin, 17, 1–15. Gottschalk, P., Filstad, C., Glomseth, R., & Solli-Sæther, H. (2011). Information management for investigation and prevention of white-collar crime. International Journal of Information Management, 31(3), 226–233. Grisso, T. (1998). Instruments for Assessing understanding and appreciation of Miranda rights. Sarasota, FL: Professional Resource Press. Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary (HMIC). (2015). The welfare of vulnerable people in police custody. London: HMIC. Hughes, M., Bain, S. A., Gilchrist, E., & Boyle, J. (2013). Does providing a written version of the police caution improve comprehension? Psychology. Crime and Law, 19(7), 549–564. Humberside Police. (2018). Your guide to vulnerability: Advice for daily decision making. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://www.safernel.co.uk/wp-­content/uploads/2018/03/Vulnerability-­Booklet.pdf. Huntley, J. M. (2012). Acquired brain injury and vulnerability to the criminal justice system. In I. Bartkowiak-Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 165–180). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Independent Custody Visiting Association. (2020). Our purpose. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://icva.org.uk/purpose/. Jones, D.  J., Bucerius, S.  M., & Haggerty, K.  D. (2019). Voices of remanded women in Western Canada: A qualitative analysis. Journal of Community Safety and Well-being, 4(3), 44–53.

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Jones, J. (2014). Reparation through reading: A collaborative approach to adult and family literacy in Western Australian prisons. Paper presented at International Federation of Library Associations World Library and Information Congress, Lyon, France, 16–22 August. Lauger, T.  R. (2014). Violent stories: Personal narratives, street socialization, and the negotiation of street culture among street-oriented youth. Criminal Justice Review, 39(2), 182–200. Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Act. (2002). New South Wales, Australia. London Metropolitan Police Service (MPS) (2015). Vulnerability and protection of adults at risk policy. London: MPS. McAra, L., & McVie, S. (2005). The usual suspects? Street life, young people and the police. Criminology and Criminal Justice, 5(1), 5–36. McCarty, W. (2010). Trailers and trouble? An examination of crime in mobile home communities. Cityscape, 12(2), 127–144. McNamara, R. H., Crawford, C., & Burns, R. (2013). Policing the homeless: Policy, practice, and perceptions. Policing: An International Journal, 36(2), 357–374. Mill, A., Mayes, R., & McConnell, D. (2010). Negotiating autonomy within the family: The experiences of young adults with intellectual disabilities. Learning Disabilities, 38(3), 194–200. Minkes, J. (2010). Silent or invisible? Governments and corporate financial crimes. Criminology & Public Policy, 9(3), 467–473. Miranda v Arizona, 384 US 436. (1966). Moffitt, T. E. (1993). Adolescence-limited and life-course-persistent antisocial behavior: A developmental taxonomy. Psychological Review, 100(4), 674–701. National Police Chiefs’ Council (NPCC). (2017). National strategy for police custody. London: NPCC. New South Wales (NSW) Police Force. (2011a). Caution and summary of Part 9 of LEPRA 2002. Sydney: NSW Police Force. New South Wales (NSW) Police Force. (2012a). Code of practice for CRIME (Custody, Rights, Investigation, Management and Evidence). Sydney: NSW Police Force. New South Wales (NSW) Police Force. (2012b). Safe custody: Working together to build a safer community. Sydney: NSW Police Force. Oberlander, L. B., & Goldstein, N. E. (2001). A review and update on the practice of evaluating Miranda comprehension. Behavioral Sciences and the Law, 19(4), 453–471. Owusu-Bempah, A. (2016). Race and policing in historical context: Dehumanization and the policing of Black people in the 21st century. Theoretical Criminology, 21(1), 23–34. Perry, B. (2006). Nobody trusts them! Under- and over-policing Native American communities. Critical Criminology, 14, 411–444. Piquero, A.  R. (2010). Policy essay on ‘policing the homeless…’. Criminology & Public Policy, 9(4), 841–849. Police Scotland. (2019). Care and welfare of persons in police custody: Standard operating procedures. Edinburgh: Police Scotland. Porter, A. (2016). Decolonizing policing: Indigenous patrols, counter-policing and safety. Theoretical Criminology, 20(4), 548–565.

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Public Health England. (2015). Health and justice health needs assessment guidance: Police custody (Part 3 of the health and justice health needs assessment toolkit for prescribed places of detention). London: Public Health England. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/government/uploads/system/uploads/attachment_data/file/774654/Police_custody_HNA__template_FINAL2015_.pdf. Ratcliffe, J. H. (2016). Intelligence-led policing. London and New York: Routledge Press. Rogers, R., Harrison, K.  S., Hazelwood, L.  L., & Sewell, K.  W. (2007). Knowing and Intelligent: A study of Miranda warnings in mentally disordered defendants. Law and Human Behavior, 31(4), 401–418. Rost, G.  C., & McGregor, K.  K. (2012). Miranda Rights comprehension in young adults with specific language impairment. American Journal of Speech-Language Pathology, 21(2), 101–108. Scherr, K. C., & Madon, S. (2012). You have the right to understand: The deleterious effect of stress on suspects’ ability to comprehend Miranda. Law and Human Behavior, 36(4), 275–282. Slater, J. (2013). Research with dis/abled Youth: Taking a critical disability, ‘critically young’ positionality. In T. Curran & K. Runswick-Cole (Eds.), Disabled children’s childhood studies (pp. 180–195). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Snook, B., Luther, K., Eastwood, J., Collins, R., & Evans, S. (2016). Advancing legal literacy: The effect of listenability on the comprehension of interrogation rights. Legal and Criminological Psychology, 21(1), 174–188. US Committee on Causes and Consequences of High Rates of Incarceration. (2014). The growth of incarceration in the United States: Exploring causes and consequences. Washington, DC: The National Academies Press. Victoria Police. (2020). Police custody officers. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https:// www.police.vic.gov.au/pco. Westley, W. A. (1953). Violence and the police. American Journal of Sociology, 59(1), 34–41. White, R. (2013). Crime against nature: Environmental criminology and ecological justice. London & New York: Routledge. Wright, K., & McGlen, I. (2012). Mental health emergencies: Using a structured assessment framework. Nursing Standard, 27(7), 48–56. Zakrison, T. L., Hamel, P. A., & Hwang, S. W. (2004). Homeless people’s trust and interactions with police and paramedics. Journal of Urban Health: Bulletin of the New  York Academy of Medicine, 81(4), 596–605. Zufferey, C., & Chung, D. (2015). ‘Red dust homelessness’: Housing, home and homelessness in remote Australia. Journal of Rural Studies, 41(Oct), 13–22.

7

Interviewing Vulnerable People

Introduction One of the critical moments that highlights vulnerability in the policing process is the police interview (Gudjonsson 2010; Williamson 2007). Although offenders may have already traversed a few formal policing processes by that time—detention and police warning—and their vulnerability may have been identified, it is during the interview that vulnerabilities are most apparent. Conversely, the police interview may be the first formal policing process that victims and witnesses may encounter. In most cases of violent crime, their situational vulnerability, especially in terms of victimisation and vicarious trauma, might have been assumed from the outset; yet their unique individual vulnerabilities—such as cognitive impairment or prior victimisation—may not have surfaced until questioning begins. The police interview is therefore an important step in recognising and addressing vulnerability. It is also a step in the policing process where the skills and capacities of individual officers to manage vulnerability are in stark relief. Done badly, the police interview can exacerbate the situated ontological vulnerabilities of offenders, victims, and witnesses and may even create iatrogenic (system generated) harms (The Bradley Report 2009). A final layer of vulnerability in the police interview is the police officers themselves. Police officers’ constant exposure to other people’s vulnerability and trauma in interviews—as discussed in more detail in Chap. 14—can add other layers of trauma and vulnerability. In this chapter, we explore how vulnerability can be recognised and accounted for at this stage of the © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_7

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policing process and consider what strategies each of the three groups (offenders, victims and witnesses, and police officers) requires to ameliorate the harms presented and caused by police interviews.

Concepts While a range of vulnerabilities can arise and be exacerbated during the interview process, the most fraught are those called behavioural health vulnerabilities (BHV; Epperson et al. 2014; Wood and Beierschmitt 2014; Wood et al. 2015) or psychological vulnerabilities (PV; Roberts and Herrington 2012). BHV and PV are terms used to refer to people who have intellectual disability, cognitive impairment, learning impairments, autism, traumatic brain injury, drug and alcohol abuse, and/ or mental illness. Importantly, comorbidity is common in BHV. For example, people with cognitive impairments and traumatic brain injury are likely to also experience mental health issues such as depression and anxiety. They, along with autistic people, are also likely to present as amotivational or, conversely, disinhibited, frustrated, intolerant, and angry (Huntley 2012). The Victorian Office of the Public Advocate (2011) suggests that in addition to these behaviours, people with cognitive impairments may also avoid eye contact, which has also been identified as a factor that may lead police officers to automatically assume or conclude their guilt. While some of these behaviours may be masked and not apparent to police officers in interview, even those with more apparent vulnerabilities may try to conceal their impairment to reduce social stigma and shame. Huntley (2012) identifies that the protective behaviour of masking disability is common for people with traumatic brain injury. BHV/PV captures a range of experiences that may have different causes and consequences, but in police interview present with similar observable patterns. People experiencing BHV may have difficulties with the day-to-day activities required to live independently. They may also have difficulties with the core skills required to engage fully in a police interview, such as reading, writing, and understanding verbal instructions (Roberts and Herrington 2012). As Roberts and Herrington (2012, 198) point out: … individuals with a PV [psychological vulnerability] are at an additional disadvantage during social interactions in general, and doubly so when those interactions involve police. This means that police handling of the detention and investigation of individuals with a PV is of paramount importance in ensuring that miscarriages of justice do not occur.

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The necessary skills required to engage with police are critical to information-­ seeking processes such as the police interview and, as noted in Chap. 6, the police warning. Gudjonsson (2013) suggests that BHV can also open up offenders, victims, and witnesses to ‘…interrogative suggestibility and compliance’. These gaps in skills and capacities can make people with BHV more susceptible to acquiesce, especially acquiesce to people in power, or people who have control over their needs, such as the need to return home, or the need to speak to a support person (Gudjonsson 2010). In terms of vulnerable victims and witnesses, Gudjonsson et al. (1993) found that clinicians identified that 15–20% of those interviewed by police were sufficiently impaired to require special measures (such as support person, alternative forms of questioning, etc.); yet, police were only able to identify 4% of the same. In 2006, Burton et al. found the gap was even more pronounced, with police and prosecutors only able to identify 9% while researchers identified 24%. Importantly, Burton et al. (2006) suggest that a more robust approach to these evaluations would result in much higher rates of vulnerability, with an estimate of 54%. Gudjonsson (2010) argues that the most difficult vulnerabilities to be identified by police in interviews were mental illness and learning disabilities. In line with The Bradley Report (2009) recommendations, many scholars argue that the provisions in place for vulnerable victims and witnesses should be extended to vulnerable offenders (Gudjonsson 2003; Young 2008). This distinction between vulnerable victims/witnesses and vulnerable offenders points to an under-­ developed ethics of care in policing. If the goal is to achieve justice, then accommodations for vulnerability need to be provided to all criminal justice actors; not just those we think are ‘deserving’ of accommodation. Failure to address vulnerabilities across the policing process contributes to an increasing distrust of the police, and as a consequence, reticence to comply with police directives and, in the long term, miscarriages of justice. The difficulty, as Roberts and Herrington point out, is that training of police officers to identify these types of vulnerabilities remains limited despite efforts to introduce these matters into the curriculum. Furthermore, they should not be empowered to make these decisions themselves, due to the clinical nature of some vulnerabilities. While police may be called ‘streetcorner psychiatrists’ (or psychologists or social workers; Teplin and Pruett 1992), currently police training does not include the acquisition of the skills that health professionals acquire in their training. Therefore, if police cannot, and are not trained, for appropriate diagnosis of intellectual and cognitive impairments, then we need to devise systems—including interviewing protocols—that assume this type of vulnerability until proven otherwise. Agreed; this will impede processes in place to ensure a speedy resolution to ­criminal

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charges and will increase the costs to policing organisations and allied services. However, given the high number of people with BHV that traverse the criminal justice system, it is critical that alternative approaches are developed to address their needs; even when they mask their vulnerabilities and/or do not believe they need such assistance. These issues highlight why we propose a universal precautions model to address apparent and hidden vulnerabilities. A final concept to consider in relation to police interviewing is trauma-informed practice. This is a relatively new term for a concept that has existed for much longer, especially in caring professions such as social work and psychology. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s policing organisations were increasingly concerned about the problems that arise in interviews, especially the impact of bad interviewing practices on miscarriages of justice. As a consequence of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act (PACE) 1984 reforms, in the early 1990s, UK policing services in conjunction with researchers and psychologists, developed the PEACE model for investigative interviewing (UK College of Policing 2020). This model is current best practice, and according to Gudjonsson (2010) should be replicated in other democratic policing organisations for both victims/witness and offenders. PEACE stands for: Planning and preparation; Engage and explain; Account clarification and challenge; Closure; and Evaluation. These steps are discussed in more detail below in the In Practice section. Each of these steps aims to formalise the process of interviewing to ensure transparency, reliability, and validity of the information obtained. As identified by Williamson (2007) and Gudjonsson (2010), the aim of PEACE-modelled interviews is to seek the truth rather than obtain confessions. This approach is critical if we are to avoid the ‘…interrogative suggestibility and compliance’ (Gudjonsson 2013) that can arise in interviews with vulnerable people, especially those with BHV. Alongside PEACE, UK justice agencies have also developed what is termed the Achieving Best Evidence (ABE) interview technique. This approach is used for victims and witnesses, particularly those judged to be vulnerable or intimidated. As with PEACE, ABE includes five steps called PEICE: Plan and prepare; Establish rapport; Initiate and support a free narrative account questioning; Close the interview; and Evaluate (UK College of Policing 2020). It is the third of these steps—Initiate and support free narrative account questioning—that differentiates victim/witness interviews from the PEACE model for suspects. When combined with the special measures for vulnerable and intimidated interviewees, as Gudjonsson (2010, 165) suggests, this approach enables ‘… them to give evidence as effectively as possible (i.e., their “best evidence” possible) and to minimise the stress associated with giving evidence’. The reform of police investigative interviewing, and the collaboration between policing organisations and

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r­ esearchers, has extended the aims of PEACE interviewing techniques to include, most recently, trauma-informed practice. Trauma-informed practice is an important development in policing. It may have a significant impact on the vulnerabilities encountered by police, and the possible iatrogenic harms created in the encounter.

Addressing trauma as business-as-usual in policing is crucial given the emerging research that demonstrates that 75% of young people who traverse the criminal justice system have experienced traumatic victimisation, and 50% have developed trauma symptoms (National Child Traumatic Stress Network 2008). This trauma is gendered; girls are more likely to experience violence—and as a consequence, are more likely to develop trauma symptoms—while boys are more likely to have witnessed violence. This pre-existing trauma changes the brain structure and functioning (Kerig and Becker 2010), and contributes to young people’s hyper-arousal, easy triggering, and proneness to acting out, which are all linked to delinquent behaviour (Perry 2009). Bateson et  al. (2020, 132) argue that ‘[g]reater awareness about how trauma impacts upon children and adults is required to aid the identification of vulnerability and develop a trauma-informed workforce’. As such, this development in research is important in our consideration of the vulnerability of witness, victims, and offenders, as well as police officers. One technique—described in more detail below in the In Practice section—is the Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) risk assessment tool. This tool asks respondents to identify what adverse childhood events they have experienced, and the total number of events provides an ACEs ‘score’. Felitti et al. (1998) noted that in addition to ACEs being more widespread that initial thought, those with high ACEs scores were more likely to experience negative impacts on health and wellbeing, including links to alcoholism, depression, domestic violence, drug use, risk-taking, and suicide. Bateson et al. (2020, 132) suggest from this research that ‘… the manifestations of childhood adversity can affect almost every realm of life including the emotional, physical, behavioural and social’, which are all predictors for increased contact with the criminal justice system. Given the circumstances of those who encounter frontline police, adopting a trauma-informed approach to policing work may assist in reducing the re-­ traumatisation of victims and witnesses, building rapport, and gathering reliable evidence from suspects. It is also thought that such an approach may also assist practitioners in managing and resolving the vicarious trauma they may experience as a consequence of engaging with traumatised victims, witnesses, and suspects (Katz and Haldar 2015–2016). In the health context, Tello (2018) argues that:

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7  Interviewing Vulnerable People The first step is to recognize how common trauma is, and to understand that every patient may have experienced serious trauma. We don’t necessarily need to question people about their experiences; rather, we should just assume that they may have this history, and act accordingly.

In this respect, trauma-informed care aligns with our claims that vulnerability in policing is best addressed by a universal precautions model (Wexler 2020). Katz and Haldar (2015–2016) suggest that trauma-informed practice requires the practitioner—in our case, the police officer—to put the trauma experiences of victims, witnesses, and suspects at the forefront of their engagement. It also requires an individualistic approach that is cognisant and respectful of the various ways in which trauma may impact people differently. In respect to offending, Bloom (2015, 2) argues that adopting a trauma-informed approach to interviewing enables police officers (and lawyers) to connect an offenders’ (or victims’ or witnesses’) behaviour to their trauma ‘… rather than isolating their actions to the current circumstances and assuming a character flaw’. Trauma presented in the police interview can vary from acute trauma created by a single incident, chronic trauma accumulated over multiple incidents, and complex trauma arising from a failure to address chronic trauma and associated issues such as homelessness, seeking asylum, or human trafficking, and system-induced trauma created by way of criminal justice processes (Wexler 2020). Scallon and Peckerman (2017) and the US Office for Victims of Crime (2020) suggest that best practice for policing organisations is the 4R approach: • Realises: the widespread impact of trauma and understands potential paths for recovery • Recognises: the signs and symptoms of trauma in clients, families, staff, and other involved with the system • Responds: by fully integrating knowledge about trauma into policies, procedures, and practices • Resists: seeks to actively resist re-traumatisation Adopting trauma-informed practice in policing can reduce the pathologisation of vulnerable people, foster screening for trauma, strengthen the relationships between witnesses, victims, offenders, and the police, enhance persona safety, and create a sense of respect. It will also contribute to the prevention of recidivism and re-traumatisation (Leitch 2017).

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In Practice From the beginning of the twentieth century, policing organisations have recognised—if not acted upon—the vulnerability of some offenders and victims/witnesses in the police interview. Yet, in the UK, it was not until the 1980s with the enactment of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 that policing services began codifying this requirement for some offenders (Griffiths and Milne 2006; Quinn and Jackson 2007). Of particular note was the requirement to provide young people with the support of an appropriate adult during interview. Similar provisions are in place across the world for young offenders and victims/witnesses. In Australia, the NSW Police Force are required to provide a support person for all vulnerable people during interview and that the support person or legal representative is provided with the opportunity to read and sign any written interview record (LEPRR 2016 s122(1)(b)). The early recognition of the possible harm and vulnerability of young people, particularly young offenders, paved the way for later reforms that sought to manage the inequities and incapacities of other vulnerable offenders, victims, and witnesses. In the UK, the 1984 PACE reforms included provisions for all offenders, including the right to legal advice. In some jurisdictions, the right to legal advice has been available to suspects for much longer. For example, the Miranda warning required of US police officers stems from the 1966 case of Miranda v Arizona, which itself is the codification of the sixth amendment to the US constitution (right to counsel) that dates from 1791. In Australia, despite the provision for a right to legal advice in the police warning, there is no absolute right to legal representation. For those who are unable to afford legal representation, Legal Aid in Australia are not funded to attend a police station to advise a suspect (Legal Aid NSW 2015). While this provision of legal advice has wider imperatives than simply managing offenders’ vulnerabilities, the presence of legal support and advice at this critical point in the policing process assists in the early identification of vulnerability. When combined with PEACE/PEICE models and trauma-informed practice, cognitive interviewing seeks to capture a wider range of evidence than other interviewing techniques, as it starts from the point of the recall of victims, witnesses, and offenders (e.g., can you tell me about what happened earlier today?). While police officers need to be prepared with follow-up questions, the goal of cognitive or narrative interviews is to provide a safe space in which the witness, victim, or offender can narrate their memory of events, in whatever order makes sense to them. It is advised that officers do not intervene or interrupt the narrator and engage as an active listener, which requires the officer to focus their attention on the narra-

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tor and not to take too many notes whilst they are talking. Allowing witnesses, victims, and offenders to tell their story—with all the tangents and repetitions, and emotions—still enables the officer to return to key points for follow-up questions but in a way that honours the narrator account, even if, or especially when, the officer is sceptical of what has been said.

PEACE/PEICE The PEACE and PEICE models work well with this approach to interviewing. According to the UK College of Policing (2020), PEACE involves five steps guided by six overarching principles. These principles are: (1) The aim of investigative interviewing is to obtain accurate and reliable accounts from victims, witnesses, or suspects about matters under police investigation… To be accurate, information should be as complete as possible without any omissions or distortion. To be reliable, the information must have been given truthfully and be able to withstand further scrutiny. (2) Investigators must act fairly when questioning victims, witnesses, or suspects. Acting fairly means that the investigator must not approach any interview with prejudice. The interviewer should be prepared to believe the account that they are being given, but use common sense and judgement rather than personal beliefs to assess the accuracy of what is being said. (3) Investigative interviewing should be approached with an investigative mindset. Accounts obtained from the person who is being interviewed should always be tested against what the interviewer already knows or what can be reasonably established. (4) Investigators are free to ask a wide range of questions in an interview in order to obtain material which may assist an investigation and provide sufficient evidence or information. Conducting an investigative interview is not the same as proving an argument in court … Although the interviewer may ask a wide range of questions, the interviewing style must not be unfair or oppressive. (5) Investigators should recognise the positive impact of an early admission in the context of the criminal justice system. (6) Investigators are not bound to accept the first answer given. Questioning is not unfair merely because it is persistent … It is acceptable for interviewers to be persistent as long as they are also careful and consistent but not unfair or oppressive. (7) Even when a suspect exercises the right to silence, investigators have a responsibility to put questions to them (UK College of Policing 2020).

In Practice

P

115 planning & preparation

CREATE & RECORD INTERVIEW

Introduction & rapport

E

PACE REQUIREMENTS

engage & explain

Reasons (objectives)

A

account clarification & challenge

Routines (expectations)

OPENING

Take & develop account

REVIEW (select a topic to probe)

ongoing process Probe Topic

• • •

Clarification & Challenge

Fine grain detail Checkable facts Appropriate questions

INTRODUCE INVESTIGATOR TOPICS (repeat probe process)

C

closure

CLOSURE

E

evaluate

EVALUATE (information, investigation, & interviewer)

Fig. 7.1  PEACE model (adapted from UK College of Policing 2020)

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As with PEACE, PEICE also starts with a question prompting open recall (e.g., can you tell me about…?), and as with PEACE, victims and witnesses also require a police officer who actively listens, does not interrupt, and provides a safe space in which to narrate their account of events (Fig. 7.1). And while trauma-informed practice is important for all who traverse the criminal justice system, it is especially important in eliciting information from traumatised victims and witnesses. As noted by Rich (2019), when done badly, the police interview can make rape victims feel as if they have been raped again. For those who accounts are regularly dismissed—such as those with Honourbased violence (HBV)—the police interview is critical to the outcomes for the victims, but also the case against the offender. It cannot be underestimated the impact that an active listener can have on those who are not believed. Victim-blaming and attributing cause to the actions of victims—even when police officers believe that they have contributed to their own victimisation; such as women being drunk or drug affected and out late alone—will forestall the full and complete account of victims, and will contribute to the lack of trust in police. This impacts not only on the case in front of the officer at the time, but will shape that victim’s engagement with criminal justice systems in the future, including their willingness to give evidence in court (Rich 2019). While not mandated in most jurisdictions, some policing services have developed, over time, provisions for supporting vulnerable victims.

Historically, victims and witnesses were informally offered the accommodation of a support person. However, in the last 30 years, the rights of victims and witnesses have expanded significantly. For example, the Charter of Victims Rights (and its associated Code of Practice) was enacted by way of the NSW Victims Rights and Support Act 2013. The Charter mandates that victims are provided by police and other agencies with access to services, such as welfare, health, and counselling and legal assistance. These provisions are in place for all victims, irrespective of their individual and/or situated ontological vulnerabilities. This approach—one of universal precautions—ensures that support is in place for all victims who are vulnerable, or made vulnerable by their encounters with the criminal justice system.

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Achieving Best Practice Achieving Best Evidence (ABE) requires in the first instance, the identification of pre-existing, chronic, and complex trauma. This is to ensure that system-induced (or iatrogenic) trauma is not created and to create the conditions and environment that facilitates free recall. Creating a place where the victims’, witnesses’, and offenders’ safety is assured—by acknowledging and addressing their concerns and needs—provides an ideal environment in which evidence is given freely and securely and contributes to the achievement of justice (Wexler 2020). As Gudjonsson (2010, 165) suggests: The reason for the special measures is to provide vulnerable and intimidated witnesses with assistance in order to enable them to give evidence as effectively as possible (i.e., their ‘best evidence’ possible) and to minimize the stress associated with giving evidence.

PEACE and PEICE processes facilitate this trauma-informed approach, as they allow the narrator the space to free recall (and similarly, provide a Victim Impact Statement). They also provide victims, witnesses, and offenders with a clear explanation of the reasons and routines of the interview, and the steps following the interview. Victims’ charters of rights mandate that victims and witnesses, at least, are notified of the next steps in the investigative process, as well as informing them about matters such as their role in the trial process, about the progress of the case, and in the longer term, the sentencing and bail conditions of the offender (NSW Department of Communities and Justice 2019). Each of these rights and each of the steps in PEACE and PEICE provides a framework to ensure that their encounters with the criminal justice system are cognisant of trauma and its impact on proceedings, but also ensures that the vulnerability of witnesses, victims, and offenders is identified and addressed. Achieving Best Evidence interviews require significant planning, including the identification of adverse childhood experiences (ACEs) (Criminal Justice System Northern Ireland 2012). ACEs can fundamentally alter the brain development of children and can impact on the ability of vulnerable people, even in adulthood, to report to the police in the first instance, and to provide reliable evidence in interview (Bateson et  al. 2020). According to Police Scotland (2020c)—who have rolled out a program in Ayrshire to upskill their officers to become trauma-informed—four or more ACEs before the age of 18 can increase their likelihood of being involved in violence by seven times, and incarcerated by 11 times.

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As such, adopting an ACEs risk assessment tool as a universal precaution for both witnesses/victims and offenders may facilitate not only Achieving Best ­Evidence, but also short-circuit the possibility of further involvement in crime (US National Center for Injury Prevention and Control 2019). The ACEs screening tool asks the following questions, with each yes response receiving a single point. Points accumulate for each adverse childhood experience, with a total sum over four indicating a moderate impact on capacity to fully engage with the interview process. (1) Did a parent or other adult in the household often or very often swear at you, insult you, put you down, or humiliate you, or act in a way that made you afraid that you might be physically hurt? (2) Did a parent or other adult in the household often or very often push, grab, slap, or throw something at you or ever hit you so hard that you had marks or were injured? (3) Did an adult or person at least 5 years older than you ever touch or fondle you or have you touch their body in a sexual way or attempt or actually have oral, anal, or vaginal intercourse with you? (4) Did you often or very often feel that no one in your family loved you or thought you were important or special or your family didn’t look out for each other, feel close to each other, or support each other? (5) Did you often or very often feel that you didn’t have enough to eat, had to wear dirty clothes, and had no one to protect you or your parents were too drunk or high to take care of you or take you to the doctor if you needed it? (6) Were your parents ever separated or divorced? (7) Was your mother or stepmother often or very often pushed, grabbed, slapped, or had something thrown at her or sometimes, often, or very often kicked, bitten, hit with a fist, or hit with something hard or ever repeatedly hit over at least a few minutes or threatened with a gun or knife? (8) Did you live with anyone who was a problem drinker or alcoholic, or who used street drugs? (9) Was a household member depressed or mentally ill, or did a household member attempt suicide? (10) Did a household member go to prison? (Stevens 2017).

As identified by the Victorian Office of the Public Advocate (2011), while PEACE/PEICE and Achieving Best Evidence approaches help facilitate the identification of vulnerability and trauma, this is dependent on the provision of an Independent Third Person to assist victims and witnesses. An Independent Third Person (ITP), in Victoria, Australia, is required to support any witnesses, victim, or

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offender who is identified as having a cognitive impairment or mental illness. The role of the ITP is to provide a liaison between the interviewee and the police and to provide the interviewee with appropriate guidance of the reasons and routines of the interview. No matter the capacity and knowledge of the police officer, the person being interviewed is enabled to knowingly consent to participate and is assured that their needs in relation to the vulnerability and/or trauma are accommodated in interview (Bateson et al. 2020). In the UK, the language is of ‘appropriate adult’, and as Young et al. (2013, 248), suggest many vulnerable people do not currently receive the required support, and that this is due, ‘…in large part, to the ineffective use of risk-assessment tools and healthcare professionals, which represent missed opportunities to identify such vulnerabilities’ (Young et  al. 2013; see also, Roberts and Herrington 2012). The Victorian Office of the Public Advocate (2011) suggests that one remedy to this lack of skills and/or lack of willingness to implement risk assessment tools such as the ACEs is the creation of a specialist unit within policing services, which would oversee the implementation and evaluation of the use of ACEs screening tools, and the adoption of accommodations for those with high ACEs scores. In the two documentaries, Making a Murderer and The Innocent Man, at least one offender was convicted on the basis of a false confession. These cases illustrate the complexities that arise in interviewing people with cognitive and/or learning impairments. Similar cases have been can be found across the world. Particular to colonial nations such as the US, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand, are many well-publicised cases of interrogative susceptibility stemming from the arrest and interrogation of Indigenous and ethnic minority offenders who do not speak the national language. While in some cases, such as the Central Park Five, the key vulnerability attribute is youth, cases such as this highlight that the negative outcomes from not addressing racial bias within policing will exacerbate the underlying vulnerabilities such as youth and cognitive impairment. Young people, in most western jurisdictions, are afforded the right to an appropriate adult during a formal interview. In some cases, this right is limited. However, even in jurisdictions that do protect the rights of children in formal interview, the police can question unsupervised young people in, for example, stop and search procedures. This case provides insights into the ethical decision making required of frontline officers’ encounters with young people outside of the interview room, as well as the decision making of frontline supervisors in allocating tasks and setting expectations of their officers.

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Case Scenario Central Park Five

This case stems from the brutal rape and assault of Trisha Meili, who had been jogging in Central Park on the night of 19 April 1989. Eight other assaults occurred on the same night in the park. That evening a group of 30 ethnic minority young people had gathered in the park and were running around causing disturbances. Some of these young people also engaged in random attacks against other people in the park. In the ensuing hours and days, NYPD officers were directed to ‘round up’ likely suspects. While the New York Police Department (NYPD) had detained over 14 people and charged 10 people for the attacks, 6 young men—Steven Lopez (14 years), Raymond Santana (14 years), Kevin Richardson (14 years), Anton McCray (15 years), Yusef Salaam (15 years), and Kharey (Korey) Wise (16 years)—were initially charged with the assault of Meili. In the case of Korey Wise, who was to go on to serve the longest, hardest sentence (initially imprisoned as an adult in Rikers Prison), he was not even identified by police but was cajoled by them to attend the police station to support his friend, Yusef. The boys were interrogated by the police for over seven hours before they began recording the video-taped confessions. Over the next 48 hours, the police interviewed the six boys—some with the support of parents and guardians; but none with legal representation—using a variety of coercive techniques, including extended interviews that lasted until the early hours of the morning, and the use of force against two of the young men. The other boys could hear these assaults by police and were told ‘…you realize you’re next’ (Salaam cited in Laughland 2016). As is there right in the US, police used false information to suggest to the boys that they were implicated, including that the other boys had named each other as the perpetrators even though, apart from Wise and Salaam, the boys did know each other. Only three of the boys’ families were able to make the $25,000 bail imposed by the court; Santana and McCray were remanded in a juvenile facility, while Korey Wise as held as an adult in Rikers Prison until trial. The plan was to try the boys in three separate cases; however, after the trial of what was to become known as the Central Park Five, Steven Lopez took a plea to a lesser charge (unrelated to the attack on Meili). This case became headlines news across the world and led to incredibly prejudicial reporting of the boys and their arrest, including Donald Trump (then just entrepreneur, not president) paying for a full-page advertisement in all of the

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city’s newspapers calling for the death penalty for these boys. Additionally, and contrary to policy, the NYPD released the names, photos, and addresses of the five boys to the press. In the end, only five were sentenced for Meili’s assault, with McCray, Salaam, and Santana receiving a sentence of 5–10 years in a juvenile facility for the assault and rape. In the second trial, Richardson was similarly sentenced but had the charge of attempted murder upheld in addition to assault and rape charges. As noted above, Wise—the only one not originally rounded up by police—received the longest sentence; he was acquitted of the rape and attempted murder charges but convicted to sexual abuse, assault and rioting and was sentenced to 5–15 years in maximum security. Importantly, during the second trial of Richardson and Wise, the court heard that both boys had limited intellectual ability, and that neither was capable of providing a written statement. It was also found at this time that Wise was illiterate. In 2002, after all the boys had served between 6–13 years in detention, Matias Reyes admitted that it was he who had assaulted Meili. Yet, as late as 2014, commentators, police, and Donald Trump continued to claim the five boys were guilty and that the eventual vacation of the charges was ‘a disgrace’ and that the settlement between the boys and New York City (for $40 million) ‘… doesn’t mean innocence’ (Trump 2014). ◄

A View from the Frontline

I was taught a lesson on vulnerability, compassion, and police legitimacy, early on in my career, as I walked through a back alley while on foot patrol, one morning. As I walked through the alley, I heard a noise in a pile of garbage. When I pulled back the rubbish, I found a young woman, bleeding, barely conscious, with obvious signs of sexual assault. I called for an ambulance, went to the hospital and spent the day with this young woman, who I knew as a local sex trade worker. Once in the hospital, I took her statement. She was working the previous night, selling sex to support her drug use. Her drug use was her way of numbing herself from years of physical and sexual abuse at the hands of men in her life that were supposed to love her. She was high when she was working so her recollection of the evening’s events were unclear and her description of the suspect was vague at best. I can still hear her voice after she gave me (continued)

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(continued) her statement ‘Jones, please don’t leave’ so I sat with her for a few hours as she had no other healthy support in her life. The other, unfortunate, reality of this situation was the reaction of some of my squad colleagues at the end of the day, that I spent so much time with Stephanie at the hospital. They were truly disappointed in me for not getting back to work quicker. Asking why I would spend my day in a hospital with a ‘hooker’ that got assaulted, working on a file that they felt I would likely never solve. At the time of this story, selling sex was illegal in Canada. Stephanie was seen by my co-workers as just another criminal, addicted to drugs, not worth our time. This began my journey to try and work on the culture of compassion for the vulnerable from within the system. Stephanie set in motion a deep desire for me to bring to light the full stories of the justice client, both victims and offenders and the large population of individuals that fit into the concept of the victim-­offender overlap. This vulnerable group that truly needs compassion and care from systems that often fail them. I never did solve this investigation. No one was brought to justice for this horrible assault on Stephanie. The next part was what surprised me most, I received a hand-written letter from Stephanie’s mother three weeks later thanking me. She thanked me for treating her daughter like a person. This made me wonder how many times, we, as a system, or within a system, do not treat vulnerable people with compassion, care, or human decency, nor take the time to hear their full story. For some reason, police and the justice system only sees the offending behaviour, thereby reducing and minimising the victimisation that the vulnerable have and will experience. Inspector Dan Jones Edmonton Police Service

Conclusion The police interview is a critical tipping point for recognising, addressing, and possibly resolving situated ontological vulnerabilities. In this chapter, we have focussed on behavioural health vulnerabilities to illustrate the necessity to approach investigative interviewing differently. However, the points raised and the options available to police to resolve BHV can equally be applied to a range of vulnerabilities, including interviews with people who do not speak the primary national language. PEACE and PEICE provide an excellent framework to ensure that victims’,

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witnesses’ and offenders’ vulnerabilities do not impede the investigation process, or that the interview process exacerbates their vulnerability. The adoption of trauma-informed practice, including the use of a universal precaution such as ACEs screening tools, can have a significant impact on the outcomes for all who traverse the criminal justice system, including police officers. Understanding trauma and its impact on vulnerability enables police officers not only to secure safe confessions and witness accounts of events, it also facilitates achieving best evidence for court. Failure to address vulnerabilities during the interview process impact on the victim/witness/offender at the time of the interview—including their willingness to talk at all—as well their continuing willingness to participate in the full criminal justice process, including giving evidence at court. While focussed on the individual circumstances, addressing vulnerabilities appropriately during investigation also facilitates increased trust in the police, and as such, the ongoing commitment to report to police.

Activities (1) Consider the issues faced by the following vulnerable people and map out the possible and mandated accommodations for vulnerable interviewees (offenders and victims/witnesses) in your jurisdiction by completing the following table. Keep in mind that some provisions may be universal and needed by all interviewees. Vulnerabilities Sight-impaired Cognitive impairment Refugee Age (youth) Age (elder) Transgender First time offender Undocumented resident First Nations Peoples Dementia

Possible issues

Mandated provisions

Ideal provisions

(2) Using the ten ACE questions listed above in this chapter, conduct an assessment on yourself and two other friends or colleagues. Make notes on the key differences between the three evaluations, and consider how each of these may impact on your and your friends’/colleagues’ capacity to be interviewed.

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Readings and Resources Grisham, J. (2006). The innocent man: Murder and injustice in a small town. Doubleday. Gudjonsson, G. H. (2010). Psychological vulnerabilities during police interviews. Why are they important? Legal and Criminological Psychology, 15, 161–175. Leitch, L. (2017). Action steps using ACEs and trauma-informed care: A resilience model. Health & Justice, 5, 5–15. US Office for Victims of Crime. (2020). Using a trauma-informed approach. Retrieved March 13, 2020, from https://www.ovcttac.gov/taskforceguide/eguide/4-­supporting-­ victims/41-­using-­a-­trauma-­informed-­approach/.

Video Resources Demos, M., & Ricciardi, L. (2015–2018). Making a murderer. Manitowoc, Wisconsin: Synthesis Films. DuVernay, A. (2019). When they see us. Los Gatos, California: Netflix, Inc..

Bibliography Bateson, K., McManus, M., & Johnson, G. (2020). Understanding the use, and misuse, of Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs) in trauma-informed policing. The Police Journal: Theory, Practice and Principles, 93(2), 131–145. Bloom, S.  L. (2015). Why should Philadelphia become a trauma-informed city? Briefing paper prepared for the Philadelphia Mayoral Forum, sponsored by the Scattergood Foundation. Retrieved March 12, 2020, from https://tinyurl.com/yc9397h7. Burton, M., Evans, R., & Sanders, A. (2006). Are special measures for vulnerable and intimidated witnesses working? Evidence from the criminal justice agencies. On-line Report 01/06. London: UK Home Office. Criminal Justice System Northern Ireland. (2012). Achieving best evidence in criminal proceedings: Guidance on interviewing victims and witnesses, the use of special measures and the provision for pre-trial therapy. Belfast: Northern Ireland Department of Justice. Demos, M., & Ricciardi, L. (2015–2018). Making a murderer. Manitowoc, Wisconsin: Synthesis Films. DuVernay, A. (2019). When they see us. Los Gatos, California: Netflix, Inc.. Epperson, M.  W., Wolff, N., Morgan, R.  D., Fisher, W.  H., Frueh, B.  C., & Huening, J. (2014). Envisioning the next generation of behavioral health and criminal justice interventions. International Journal of Law and Psychiatry, 37(5), 427–438. Felitti, V., Anda, R., Nordenberg, D., Williamson, D., Spitz, A., Edwards, V., Koss, M., & Marks, J. (1998). Relationship of childhood abuse and household dysfunction to many of the leading causes of death in adults: The Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACE) study. American Journal of Preventive Medicine, 14(4), 245–258.

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Griffiths, A., & Milne, B. (2006). Will it all end in tiers? Police interviews with suspects in Britain. In T. Williamson (Ed.), Investigative interviewing (pp. 167–189). London & New York: Routledge. Gudjonsson, G. H. (2003). The psychology of interrogations and confessions: A handbook. Chichester: Wiley. Gudjonsson, G. H. (2010). Psychological vulnerabilities during police interviews. Why are they important? Legal and Criminological Psychology, 15, 161–175. Gudjonsson, G.  H. (2013). Interrogative suggestibility and compliance. In A.  M. Ridley, F. Gabbert, & D. J. La Rooy (Eds.), Suggestibility in legal contexts: Psychological research and forensic implications (pp. 45–61). Wiley-Blackwell. Gudjonsson, G. H., Clare, I., Rutter, S., & Pearse, J. (1993). Persons at risk during interviews in police custody: The identification of vulnerabilities. The Royal Commission on Criminal Justice, HMSO, London. Huntley, J. M. (2012). Acquired brain injury and vulnerability to the criminal justice system. In I. Bartkowiak-Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 165–180). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Jones, D.  J., Bucerius, S.  M., & Haggerty, K.  D. (2019). Voices of remanded women in Western Canada: A qualitative analysis. Journal of Community Safety and Well-being, 4(3), 44–53. Katz, S., & Haldar, D. (2015–2016). The pedagogy of trauma-informed lawyering. Clinical Law Review, 22, 359–393. Kerig, P. K., & Becker, S. P. (2010). From internalizing to externalizing: Theoretical models of the processes linking PTSD to juvenile delinquency. In S. J. Egan (Ed.), Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD): Causes, symptoms and treatment (pp. 33–78). Hauppauge, NY: Nova Science Publishers. Laughland, O. (2016, February 18). Donald Trump and the Central Park Five: The racially charged rise of a demagogue. The Guardian. Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Regulation. (2016). (NSW). Legal Aid NSW. (2015). Police powers: Your rights and responsibilities. Retrieved April 22, 2020, from https://www.legalaid.nsw.gov.au/publications/factsheets-­and-­resources/ police-­powers. Leitch, L. (2017). Action steps using ACEs and trauma-informed care: A resilience model. Health & Justice, 5, 5–15. Miranda v Arizona, 384 US 436. (1966). National Child Traumatic Stress Network. (2008). Judges and child trauma: Findings from the National Child Traumatic Stress Network/National Council of Juvenile and Family Court Judges Focus Groups. Service Systems Brief, 2(2), 1–4. NSW Department of Communities and Justice. (2019). Charter of victims rights. Sydney: Parliament of NSW. Perry, B.  D. (2009). Examining child maltreatment through a neurodevelopmental lens: Clinical applications of the Neurosequential Model of Therapeutics. Journal of Trauma and Loss, 14, 240–255. Police and Criminal Evidence Act (PACE). (1984). (UK). Police Scotland. (2020c). Trauma informed policing. Retrieved March 13, 2020, from https:// www.scotland.police.uk/whats-­happening/trauma-­informed-­policing/.

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Quinn, K., & Jackson, J. (2007). Of rights and roles: Police interviews with young suspects in Northern Ireland. The British Journal of Criminology, 47(2), 234–255. Rich, K. (2019). Trauma-informed police responses to rape victims. Journal of Aggression, Maltreatment & Trauma, 28(4), 463–480. Roberts, K., & Herrington, V. (2012). Detention and investigation of vulnerable suspects. In I. Bartkowiak-Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 198–213). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Scallon, C. J., & Peckerman, T. (2017). Trauma-informed policing: Addressing the prevalence of trauma in law enforcement encounters. Training program developed by the US Council of States Governments Justice Centre. Retrieved March 13, 2020, from http:// www.citinternational.org/resources/Documents/Trauma%20Informed%20Policing.pdf. Stevens, J. (2017). Got your ACE, resilience scores? ACEs Connection Blog. Retrieved March 13, 2020, from https://www.acesconnection.com/blog/got-­your-­ace-­resilience-­ scores. Tello, M. (2018). Trauma-informed care: What it is, and why it’s important. Harvard Health Blog. Retrieved March 11, 2020, from https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/trauma-­ informed-­care-­what-­it-­is-­and-­why-­its-­important-­2018101613562. Teplin, L. A., & Pruett, N. S. (1992). Police as streetcorner psychiatrist: Managing the mentally ill. International Journal of Law and Psychiatry, 15(2), 139–156. The Bradley Report. (2009). Lord Bradley’s review of people with mental health problems or learning disabilities in the criminal justice system. London: Department of Health. Trump, D. (2014, 21 June). Donald Trump: Central Park Five settlement is a ‘disgrace’. Daily News. UK College of Policing. (2020). Investigation: Investigative interviewing. Retrieved March 11, 2020, from https://www.app.college.police.uk/app-­content/investigations/ investigative-­interviewing/#peace-­framework. US National Center for Injury Prevention and Control. (2019). Preventing Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs): Leveraging the best available evidence. Atlanta, Georgia: Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. US Office for Victims of Crime. (2020). Using a trauma-informed approach. Retrieved March 13, 2020, from https://www.ovcttac.gov/taskforceguide/eguide/4-­supporting-­ victims/41-­using-­a-­trauma-­informed-­approach/. Victims Rights and Support Act. (2013). (NSW). Victorian Office of the Public Advocate. (2011). Submission to the inquiry into access to and interaction with the justice system by people with an intellectual disability and their families and carers (IDAJ29). Melbourne: Law Reform Committee, Parliament of Victoria. Wexler, E. (2020). Trauma-informed policing: A special set of tools for law enforcement. Training programs developed for the Philadelphia Police Department. Retrieved March 13, 2020, from https://bha.health.maryland.gov/Documents/Trauma-­Informed%20 Policing%20-­%20Betsy%20Wexler.pdf. Williamson, T. (2007). Psychology and criminal investigation. In T. Newburn, T. Williamson, & A. Wright (Eds.), Handbook of criminal investigation (pp. 68–91). Cullompton: Willan Publishing. Wood, J.  D., & Beierschmitt, L. (2014). Beyond police crisis intervention: Moving ‘upstream’ to manage cases and places of behavioral health vulnerability. International Journal of Law and Psychiatry, 37(5), 439–447.

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Wood, J.  D., Taylor, C.  J., Groff, E.  R., & Ratcliffe, J.  H. (2015). Aligning policing and public health promotion: Insights from the world of foot patrol. Police Practice and Research: An International Journal, 16(3), 211–223. Young, S., Goodwin, E. J., Sedgwick, O., & Gudjonsson, G. H. (2013). The effectiveness of police custody assessments in identifying suspects with intellectual disabilities and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. BMC Medicine, 11, 248–259. Young, S. J. (2008). A new role in support of the vulnerable. Psychologist, 21(11), 962–963.

8

Police Liaison

Introduction In accordance with broader principles of community policing, police liaison schemes are typically established to help develop police-citizen mutual understanding and cooperation. A continuous and broad range of contact between police and vulnerable, and sometimes ostracised, people helps build acceptance and trust between parties. Three key philosophies can be seen to be embedded in liaison programmes: developing reassurance, engagement with vulnerable groups, and crime prevention. There is very little cohesiveness about police liaison schemes across the world. Apart from the common underpinning principle that liaison schemes are to bridge relationships between police and vulnerable communities, police liaison schemes come in many shapes and forms.

Additionally, the positioning of these roles in the organisation often depends on their more finite purpose, their deployment in the field, and the ‘critical volume’ of population they liaise with. The study of police liaison schemes is also disparate. Their findings also vary. Depending on the topic studied, and depending on the angle, the role is glorified and praised for its attempts at connecting police more positively with various sections of the population. Officers are put on a pedestal for the passion they live in the workplace. Other studies look at its operationalisation and decry its under-resourcing, its hindrance to police careers, and its © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_8

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u­ nder-­utilisation or under-valuing by staff and community members alike. This chapter provides a broad, critical outlook on police liaison schemes from various international vantage points. It goes from the historical necessity of these roles towards the multiplication of its uses in hotspot-like circumstances, and outlines that while some roles can become strains on individual careers and passions, it remains a clever strategic choice for any police organisation, albeit with serious limitations.

Concepts In the discussions around how to operationalise concepts revolving around community policing, what it means, and what community(ies) it should target, liaison schemes are one of the best examples of how community policing can be operationalised (Bartkowiak-Théron 2012). In some ways, police liaison schemes follow an exact definition of community policing, in that they consist of an organisational strategy towards citizen or community engagement with policing, problem-­solving, and decentralisation. Police-community liaison schemes are a form of visible and tangible outreach activity, in which police organisations decide to allocate human, training, and financial resources to: 1 . understand the needs of the targeted community 2. discuss areas of concern with community members 3. initiate conversations about problem-solving (collaborative or not, the engagement component is a debate around the willingness of parties to engage with each other. This is the focus on our chapter on community engagement; regardless, it can be argued that liaison schemes are one of the first steps to successful or positive engagement) 4. educate all parties about the role of policing in the community. Arguably aimed at mending historically tense relationships with police, liaison schemes target all forms of vulnerability, whether based on geography (liaison police officers are allocated a territory to focus on, like schools or neighbourhoods) or vulnerability attribute (like mental health or sexuality and gender diverse communities). They are heavily criticised, however, for not targeting all known vulnerabilities, and for only targeting ‘critical mass’ of vulnerability issues. The conversation below will outline that the approach to liaison roles is often understood in vulnerability siloes, with limited possibility to consider layered or cross-sectional vulnerabilities. However, the practice of liaison roles has seen the emergence of

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some sophisticated practices targeting aggravated forms of crime, or heightened situations of crisis (Hoggett and West 2020). The evidence surrounding community liaison schemes is patchy, and often in discordance with one another. For communities in the field, however, the visibility of the officer dedicated to the liaison scheme presents an easy way to recognise who to talk to in case of issue and where to go when unsure of problem-resolution pathways.

In Practice It is no secret that police organisations have had strained relationships with some sections of the population they serve. The concentration of disadvantage, partly due to ill-thought economic and urban policies and historical misunderstandings between social groups contributed to the further social and political ostracisation of people already ‘at the margin’ (Body-Gendrot 2011). Magnified by the natural imbalance of power and control between police and communities, the over policing of these social groups contributed, with time, to the development of utterly tense relationships with police. Youth, race, and mental health were the first touchstones of liaison schemes, with multiple articulations of schemes according to jurisdictions, and with various levels of deployment in the field. Today, the number of liaison schemes has grown to include other sections of the populations and focus on various areas of vulnerability. Before discussing current liaison approaches, first we need to consider where these innovations in practice originated.

1 910s and Beyond—Development of International Models of School Liaison Police Programmes School liaison police programmes fall neatly under the community policing banner and draw, to a large extent, on concepts in areas such as youth services, crime prevention, and community relations. A key tenet behind such initiatives is that improved understanding of juvenile attitudes can help police identify ways to decrease criminality (Nihart et  al. 2005). School liaison police help ensure knowledgeable intervention with pre-delinquent youth and help prevent drifts towards serious misbehaviour. Social control theorists, such as Hirschi (1969), acknowledge that schools play a central role in crime prevention by identifying problem youth and providing early intervention for those problems (Lab 2004). As a matter of fact, the police supervision of US playgrounds and police direct liaison

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with schools dates back as early as 1918, with crime prevention as the broad rationale for the immediate admonishing of pre-delinquent children by a figure of authority other than the local teacher. But the 1951 Liverpool City Police Juvenile Liaison Scheme (UK) is considered the basis of preventive police programmes within schools. The American School Resource Officers (SROs) slowly became a feature of school policies, later described in the US Omnibus Crime Control and Safe Streets Acts 1968 (Part Q, Title 1) as A career law enforcement officer, with sworn authority, deployed in community-­ oriented policing and assigned by the employing police department or agency to work in collaboration with school and community-based organisations.

Police-school programmes provide the basis for a unique form of policing, while at the same time returning to Peel’s definition of police duties and encompassing much of the broader philosophy of community policing: The resource officer’s familiarity with most of their school population helps to ensure a knowledgeable approach to individual problems, including those which involve more severe forms of delinquent or criminal behaviour. Many other services are routinely provided for students, as well as for teachers and school administrators, thus providing a new form of the old-fashioned cop who walked the ‘beat’ and knew most of the people in the neighbourhood by name (Scheffer 1987, 4).

In 1991, the development of a national organisation in the US—The National Association of School Resource Officers (NASRO)—has assisted locally based school liaison police in gathering and disseminating of information and practice updates to assist them in their role. Within an overarching philosophy of reassurance, the work of school liaison police encompasses direct contact, assistance, information, education, protection, prevention, and investigative services. Young people are one special interest group for policing: young people remain one of the most victimised groups in society, and are at particular risk of being involved in incidents of child abuse and neglect, bullying, involvement in low-level ‘initiation’ delinquency and youth gang activity,1 which may lead to a continued offending through adult life. School liaison programmes, especially those which do not concentrate solely on young people already deemed at risk, actively engage individuals who might otherwise fall through

 The Programme d’Intervention en milieu scolaire, was set up in 1987 as a programme to specifically address drug trafficking in schools around Québec City, Quebec, Canada. 1

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the gaps of more traditional youth diversion schemes. They improve chances of early detection, investigation, and subsequent prosecution of such offences, and place police officers at the forefront of crime prevention and youth protection (Kappeler and Gaines 2015). They also provide opportunities to involve the extended school community (bus drivers, guards, psychologists, youth workers, students, and parents) into early problem identification and resolution. Some programmes are designed around a specific focus. For example, the 1990s German Das Präventionsprogramm ‘Kinder-und Jungenddelinquenz’, looked at bullying, peer pressure, and theft In Belgium, invited police were engaged in schools specifically to conduct drug searches (Shaw 2004, 6). In Hong Kong, the school liaison police provide education and advice only with no remit to engage in the investigation or prosecution of an offence. Once a criminal matter has been identified, it is referred to general duties police (Hong Kong Police Force 2007). School liaison officers worldwide are often involved in restorative and conflict resolution practices within the school environment. Additionally, officers convene problem-training classes to help modify attitudes and/or behaviours of group (student) members (Bartkowiak-Théron 2012). Some student-teacher-police problem-­ solving classes are incorporated into existing government and history curricula and require students to identify problems, especially around school safety. Teachers may also provide material, and an assigned police officer attends the class when required. Geographical permanence is one common feature of school-based programmes throughout the world. Officers are allocated a specific number of schools within a geographical area, which allows relationships to foster and a degree of familiarity to evolve—in line with the key principles behind much of community policing (Kappeler and Gaines 2015). In Hong Kong, police staff can be allocated between 5 and 26 schools, depending on risk levels and geographical dispersion (Hong Kong Police Force 2007). In other jurisdictions, and in the case of the Australian New South Wales School Liaison Police, the numbers of schools allocated to officers can be higher. While school liaison programmes may be a good example of outreach scheme for police, they have not been without hiccups either. Research has shown that some police programmes in schools have had the effect of criminalising school behaviour, when such behaviour could have been dealt with via restorative and educative practices. The controversy lies in the establishment of police presence in school, especially after school shootings (like the 2012 Sandy Hook shooting), to protect students and staff. These innovations in practice have been accompanied by calls for armed police on school grounds and toughened intervention policies for any observed deviant behaviour, to secure safe spaces for children (Campbell

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­Collaboration 2014). The effect of such a renewed toughened stance is an increase in the criminalisation of young people from vulnerable backgrounds.

1960s USA—The Cradle of Police Mental Health Liaison Schemes The 1960s saw unprecedented new understandings of brain chemistry, which sent ripples in the field of psychiatry and psychology. The subsequent deinstitutionalisation of people with mental illness in the 1960s is one of the first reasons (Panzarella and Alicea 1997; Perkins et al. 1999) cited in the literature for the presence of more mentally ill people in the streets. The move to community-based treatment (Perkins et al. 1999) was hoped to control the impulses of patients and to help them function ‘normally’ within society. However, ‘…gaps often found in community mental health service provider networks’ and the absence of reallocation of money to family and informal networks of support contributed to an increased likelihood for people with mentally illness to encounter police (Wells and Schafer 2006, 580). As a result, in the absence of appropriate levels and continuity of care, people living with a mental illness became (and still are) frequently caught up in the criminal justice system, due to the way illness manifests when untreated (Greenberg 2001). With time, and as a consequence of their increased involvement with consumers and of their 24/7 availability to the public, unprepared police services became the primary access to the mental health system for people with a mental illness (Bittner 1971; Greenberg 2001). This resulted in a series of unfortunate encounters, which ended up in shootings and significant or lethal injuries to both parties (Steadman et al. 2000). Police were fast in reacting and calling for more specialised responses, policies and operational procedures to deal with incidents involving people with mentally illness. As a parallel to such developments, making the link between mental illness and offending and the relationship between mental illness and victimisation became a necessity (Novak and Engel 2005). The Memphis Police Department was first to implement specific responses and became the epicentre for three police response models to problems involving people with mental illness. The three models of intervention historically flagged as best practice model are: 1. The Memphis Model, which focuses on specialising some police officers on, and dedicating them to, mental health; 2. The Birmingham Model, a variant of Memphis, which hires mental health consultants for onsite and telephone consultation; and

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3. The Knoxville Model, which advises the creation of mobile crisis teams composed of mental health specialists who work hand in hand with police (Nislow 2000). Nowadays, there are four distinct categories of police response to incidents involving mentally ill individuals (Reuland and Margolis 2003): 1. Crisis Intervention Teams: specially trained police who act as primary or secondary responders to calls for concern or crisis situations; 2. Comprehensive Advanced Response: a traditional police response that mandates intensive 40-hour training for all officers; 3. Mobile Crisis Teams: licensed mental health professionals (civilians) who act as secondary responders when police are already attending a crisis situation; and 4. Joint Teams of mental health professionals and police officers: mental health specialists are seconded to police stations.

1 980–1990 UK—Police Racism and the Necessary Consultation with Ethnic Communities The socio-economic situation in the UK in the 1980s was such that police failed to properly assess levels of unrest and social agitation in ghettoised suburbs around London. After a period of recession, issues of unemployment, racial disadvantage, and poor housing escalated in a particular suburb of London (actually, one of many; Body-Gendrot 2011). In those circumstances, the Brixton Riots of 1981 were the disastrous outcome of mutual misunderstanding between a police officer and a group of young people of ethnic descent (African Caribbean). Even without social media at the time, ill-founded rumours that police had stabbed a young black person spread like fire, and violent protests erupted in April 1981. With the local police overwhelmed and ill-equipped, police from other areas of London were dispatched to the area. The riots resulted in hundreds of injuries to police and community members, looting, damage to cars and loss of property (Scarman 1981). While the riot was actually subdued relatively quickly (less than 24 hours), the Home Office launched an immediate inquiry into the events and into the police management of the riot, as well as its triggers. The ensuing Scarman Report, published in November of that year, became one of the foremost landmarks in policing reform. The report is noted for its encompassing of the socio-economic

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c­ ircumstances that fostered the alienation of sections of the community, and for its unapologetic analysis of police failings to consult with their local communities, or build any kind of relationships with those communities altogether (Scarman 1981). The Scarman Report was crucial in establishing several new initiatives in the British policing landscape, which created ripples internationally. Some of the main outcomes of the report were the creation of a new Police Complaints Authority, a brand new Code of Conduct for police, and the necessary establishment of negotiated initiatives with local communities (especially vulnerable communities). The 1999 Macpherson report, which follows the 1997 murder of Stephen Lawrence and its subsequent botched investigation by police (Bartkowiak-Théron and Asquith 2015), makes notes however that some recommendations of the Scarman report had been ignored (Macpherson 1999). Macpherson, a High Court Judge, made a number of scathing accusations towards the police, many still echo in today’s policing context. The Macpherson report, for example, is the first official document to mention issues of grave concern such as incompetence, lack of basic duty of care, failure to administer first aid to a person in distress, and unethical conduct such as failure to follow leads and make arrests. More importantly, Macpherson assessed the London Metropolitan Police Service to be institutionally racist and made a raft of recommendations to address institutional racism in a number of government areas, such as police, schools, criminal justice, and general public service.

Liaison Officer Role and Remit Police liaison schemes are usually split between police auxiliaries, police liaison officers and police spokespersons. We provided a detailed analysis of these roles elsewhere (Bartkowiak-Théron 2012). Police auxiliaries are members of the public who become seconded to the police organisation (non-sworn) to solve specific problems located in their immediate geographical jurisdictions. Aboriginal Community Liaison Officers (ACLOs) in the NSW Police Force are an example. Their role essentially revolves around communication between aboriginal communities and the police, dispute resolution, education about the role of police, and crime prevention (Willis 2010). Police liaison officers, the more well-known of liaison schemes, are specialised sworn police officers often operating general duties, who take the specific role to mediate with sub-sections of the population. They can be allocated either a specific ‘beat’ (e.g., a school, in the case of School Liaison Officers), a special issue (such

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as domestic violence) or a defined sub-group of the population spread across a ­territory or a whole jurisdiction (like a LGBTI/GLLO officer). As the first port of call for these sub-groups, the police liaison officer is a communication node between the public and the police and is involved in the operational matters involving their area of specialisation. Police spokespersons are usually senior members of the organisation and are positioned at policy level. Their role is vastly different from that of liaison officers, in that they are more of an interface between the police, specialist agencies, the media, and government on all matters of policy change and implementation. Their placement in the corporate governance of the organisation means that they often sit on multi-disciplinary committees involving partner government agencies and non-­ government organisations.

Limitations of the Role There are several limitations to the role of liaison programmes, including limitations linked to training, working in silos, and public perceptions of and engagement with liaison officers. Each of these limitations in the role itself is also shaped by what Mason-Bish (2013) calls the ‘competition of suffering’.

Limitations of Training As part of our observations that police liaison schemes across the world are disparate, we need to add that there is little consistency and commitment around the training of police liaison officers. With the exception of mental health liaison schemes (specifically when they are variations on crisis intervention schemes) and school liaison police, there is very little in the way of training for police liaison officers. In most cases and examples around the world, Crisis Intervention Teams and Mental Health Intervention Teams usually received 40 hours of intensive, specialised basic training on mental health, psychology, psychiatry, and drugs before they take their functions (Reuland and Margolis 2003). Some school liaison police schemes see the same kind of introduction to the role, with content focusing on youth issues, legislation, cyberbullying, restorative justice, and conflict resolution. Lack of effective training is a constant critique of evaluation of the schemes (Dwyer et al. 2020; Herrington and Pope 2014). One-off training is often deemed too operational, when it needs more sophisticated focus on the living circumstances of the vulnerable group it targets. Refresher courses are also in demand, for officers

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to catch up with new technologies (a point made salient in school liaison police training programmes) and trends. Importantly, though, there is agreement that community members need to know, be reassured, and trust that some liaison roles are backed up by serious professional development (Dwyer et al. 2020). Training also needs to become more multi-disciplinary, to account for the multi-faceted nature of problems encountered by some vulnerable groups (e.g., training on hate crime, autism, cognitive difficulties, communication issues, etc.).

Working in Silos A police liaison officer, regardless of positioning and placement in the organisation, is given a specific portfolio. The scope of this portfolio is strictly limited to the area of vulnerability it is concerned with. While the spokesperson often sits on multi-disciplinary committees, the nature of the liaison role (and often the content of training received for the purpose of that role, if any) prescribes them from commenting on any other area of vulnerability, except in strictly operational terms (i.e., what a police manual says in terms of policing protocol). This is a complex problem, since comorbidity (the existence of multiple layers of vulnerability at the same time) is now a construct that spans all areas of government and scientific literature. Liaison networks therefore exist where police liaison officers brief each other on issues of importance and timely relevance, and of the possibility for several portfolios to come together for the purpose of decision making. Regardless, police officers have often expressed frustration at the limitations of working in siloes, across multiple areas of government. The School Liaison Police officer possibly remains the exception to that rule, due to the variety of issues children can be exposed to.

Actual Reliance of the Public on the Liaison Role Studies of the police liaison officer are an area of policing research that is constantly growing. It is also becoming more critical of the role. Recently, studies on the LGBTI liaison role in Australia have shown that while LGBTI communities are broadly aware of the role, and mostly welcome it, LGBTI people tend not to rely on it and the services available to them through that liaison portfolio (Dwyer et al. 2020). Levels of actual interaction in the field are low, and reluctance to seek support is high. Perceptions of the role in LGBTI communities revolve around victim assistance, relationship building, and homo/transphobia awareness within the police organisation. The study reveals that historically negative relationships with the police are partly responsible for the low profile of the role within the community. Additionally, LGBTI officers were of the opinion that the role was under-valued within the organisation itself (Dwyer et al. 2020).

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This study is in stark contrast with other Australian liaison roles which are relied on heavily by their community. General community liaison officers in regional New South Wales are much praised by their community members, and the liaison role, for those police officers, is often a step for small promotional attainment in regional Local Area Commands. In Tasmania, the Community Liaison officer is also often a first port of call for ethnic communities, and is a regular feature at festivals, community events and commemorations. Community Liaison Officers are also systematically called upon when crimes of a possible racial-nature are committed in the state (Bartkowiak-Théron and Lieutier 2014).

Competition of Suffering and Limited Resources There are fewer categories of police liaison schemes than there are categories of vulnerability listed in legislation and policy. This warrants us developing on two points that are an issue of contention in the policing of the full vulnerability landscape: that of critical ‘criminal’ mass, and that of competition of suffering. The first point to take account of is that not everyone that is considered vulnerable under a universal precautions framework actually needs the protection of police. A woman, and even a pregnant woman, for example, is not necessarily in crisis and does not need immediate attention from the authorities. A whole series of vulnerability categories are therefore probably more relevant to the field of primary health than they are of policing and criminal justice. Therefore, from a managerial perspective, the need to create a special role for all types of vulnerability is not necessary. However, the opposite is also true. Not everyone who is vulnerable has access to a police liaison person when they need one.

If police liaison schemes are so crucial to the social groups that are over-­ represented in criminal justice, and those who have only experienced overly tense and volatile relationships with police, then there are glaring gaps in the makeup of the liaison fabric. Some categories of vulnerability do not have a liaison representative. Some are subsumed into larger categories of vulnerability: disability, for example, is incorporated into the larger mental health liaison portfolio (if at all); refugees, on their end, are encompassed in the broader community liaison portfolio if there are no ethnic liaison officers in the jurisdictions. The ethnic liaison officers themselves are supposed to sustain a large portfolio that amalgamates all ethnicities

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and cultures, regardless of the sheer number of variations that exist in the global ethnic and language landscape. A ‘competition of suffering’ (Mason-Bish 2013) is partly to blame for those liaison gaps, prominence, or amalgamations. Competition of suffering refers to the idea that various social groups have to engage in visible and vocal rivalry on the political and media scene, to advocate for the recognition of their past, present (and likely, future) conditions of disadvantage and socio-economic struggles. The culture of competitive suffering goes beyond advocacy. It engages in stiff battles for acknowledgement, resources, funding, and political recognition in matters that are already partitioned across government areas and funding siloes. The 1960s civil rights decades triggered, worldwide, a historical pattern for the just socio-political recognition that is continuing and becoming more sophisticated. While women, youth, Indigenous people (in North America; Australia came on board much later) and victims of crime acquired their first validation as prominent and active members of the socio-political and criminal justice fields, other social sub-groups like LGBTIQ+ communities gained prominence much later. Among these, historical mistakes and high profile judicial cases contributed to some vulnerabilities being put to the front of the political and policing agendas (like, e.g., race-police relationships after the Stephen Lawrence murder; Bartkowiak-­Théron and Asquith 2015). Regrettably, much of this competition of suffering means just that: there is an agenda to promote one’s community suffering above and beyond another’s. In societies that technically promote equity across all social determinants of (good) health, some ethnic and cultural groups who have known genocide or cultural alienation are not recognised enough to enjoy the reassurance of a dedicated liaison scheme (such as Jewish communities). The stark reality is that the partitioning (and more importantly, its qualification) of suffering and the prioritisation of some groups over others create an impossible fissuring of resources at more fundamental levels than budgets allow. It is not that ‘not everyone deserves’ a liaison officer. Rather, the intricacies of liaising for all are impossible in a new public management context.

Priorities, therefore, come according to critical mass, and according to those who are likely to be more of an operational problem for police officers. This is, fundamentally, about resource management, and the capacity for police to balance deployment, risk management, and public order maintenance (Hoggett and West 2020).

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Case Scenario The Swedish Football ‘Supporter Liaison Officer’ (SLO)

The recent creation of a special football liaison role for police officers in Sweden has caused surprise, and studies about the role are nascent (Stott et  al. 2020). Introduced as part of the 2012 ‘Stand up for Football’ initiative and supported by the 2011 UEFA SLO Handbook, the responsibilities of the officer do not diverge from those traditional ones of mediation and interface between sports or club fans and authorities (both sports and government authorities). It is, however, receiving the same derogatory comments of ‘soft policing’, as other liaison roles, despite the reality that the role is intended to prevent violent, often radical forms of hooliganism and sports-related protest. While the role includes community-­oriented forms of engagement, such as work with disabled supporters (Stott et al. 2020), the reduction of conflict through the development of trust and legitimacy is one of the primary aims of the liaison portfolio. The role is utterly siloed and strictly focused on the sports environment. However, a closer look at the actual portfolio indicates complex internal working dynamics that include dialog between local sports fans, stakeholders such as sports complex and internal business owners, stadium managers, the local fire brigades (a major stakeholder since some ‘ultra’ groups often make use of pyrotechnics on the field and during game days), the media, sports clubs and associations, schools, families, as well as active supporters and those known hooligans and ultra groups (Stott et al. 2020). While most Swedish SLOs work full-time, the constant demand on the role prevents them from being available to all members in their portfolios at any point in time. As a result of the multiplication of such demands around game events, ‘match day SLOs’ are hired by some sports clubs to relieve SLOs from some duties during high profile events. The Football Liaison role is not widespread across jurisdictions (not even all European jurisdictions for that matter). However, football Police Liaison Teams have been used for the purpose of crowd control and risk management in the UK for some time, with evidence that one of their main advantage is their capacity to engage with supporters during and in-between games (Hoggett and West 2020). ◄

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A View from the Frontline

In 2005 the London Metropolitan Police Service began a large scale research project aimed at reviewing the victim typologies involved in rape cases leaving the criminal justice system at the police stage. Attrition within allegations of rape has remained problematic and consistent over time in the UK and the research was commissioned to identify key patterns emerging within those attrition figures. The research was repeated over eight years and remains one of the world’s largest rape attrition studies. Given that the need for effective and supportive police responses to vulnerable people is high on the agenda in the UK it is significant that the research found that the majority of rape cases involved the most vulnerable victims. The review repeatedly found a number of vulnerable characteristics present in cases leaving the system. Plus, the likelihood of attrition increased when the victim presented more than one area of vulnerability. The research identified a prevalence of mental health factors amongst rape victims’ and, given that the majority of victims with these issues do not receive justice, they may go unsupported and at risk of further victimisation. Over the timeline of the research attrition patterns varied but not substantially and the work highlighted the importance for the police to understand the wider context around the issues that rape victims face, and the provision of support required to maintain engagement with the system. As a result of the findings, recommendations were made to examine the current legal definition of who is considered vulnerable ‘enough’ to receive support at court. The researchers argued that current definitions are too narrow and do not serve the needs of the majority of rape victims. It is only at the point in court when a needs assessment is made that access to special measures is viable. The research team argued that given the majority of attrition happens at police investigation stage, a victim vulnerability assessment based on individual need, should be considered at the beginning of the process when the allegation is initially made. Given the factors involved in rape cases this crime should be viewed as a public health issue rather than just one for policing alone. Considering the relationship between vulnerability and attrition, the complexities of these presenting vulnerabilities should be individually assessed, utilising a partnership approach to address the needs identified. A universal approach (continued)

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(continued) should be implemented at the start of a victims’ journey. Considering such factors in problem-solving around how best to support victims via partner agencies, liaison schemes and safeguarding options is critical to the reduction of exposure to future harm. Emma Williams Canterbury Policing Research Centre

Conclusion The primary role of police liaison schemes is that of reaching out to historically marginalised populations, influencing policy and addressing levels of risks associated with vulnerabilities that can span a variety of topical, social, or geographical issues across a jurisdiction. However, there are some severe limitations in terms of resourcing and training for these roles. Recently, the Chief Constable of the jurisdiction of Norfolk (UK), scrapped all of its 150 Police Community Support Officers (PCSOs) for purely financial reason (reminding us that such forms of ‘soft policing’ such as community policing are the first ones to go in climates of austerity). Introduced in 2002, PCSOs were trained members of the organisation, but did not have full powers, and were intended to provide help to fully sworn officers in the management of community liaison, expectations, and in the management of crime scenes. Police liaison officers are part of the broader framework of policing governance, and represent an investment, on the part of police, in the area of community relations. An often under-valued role, it is one of necessity when issues of vulnerability (especially enduring vulnerability) have stained the relationship of community groups with police, to the extent that police are unable to maintain presence, ensure peace, and manage order in those communities.

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Activities 1. Consider the number of police liaison schemes in your jurisdiction. How many are there? What is their nature, and how are they positioned in the organisation (support, operations, and policy)? Is there any gap in the allocation of liaison roles in your jurisdiction, and why? 2. Map out the schools in your immediate jurisdictional beat. Do they all have an ‘adopted’ cop? Is it the case that some of them are missing out on one? Why is that, and what should be the role of that police officer, should there be one?

Readings and Resources Henshall, A. (2018). On the school beat: Police officers based in English schools. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 39(5), 593–606. Kunst, M. J. J., Saan, M. C., Bollen, L. J. A., Kuijpers, K. F. (2017). Secondary traumatic stress and secondary posttraumatic growth in a sample of Dutch police family liaison officers. Stress and Health, 33, 570–577.

Bibliography Bartkowiak-Théron, I. (2012). Reaching out to vulnerable people: The work of police liaison officers. In I.  Bartkowiak-Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 84–100). Annandale: The Federation Press. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Asquith, N. L. (2015). Policing diversity and vulnerability in the post-Macpherson era: Unintended consequences and missed opportunities. Policing: A Journal of Policy and Practice, 9(1), 89–100. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Lieutier, M.  F. (2014). Making community engagement a core business of policing. In I. Bartkowiak-Théron & K. Anderson (Eds.), Knowledge in action (pp. 116–131). Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars. Bittner, E. (1971). Florence nightingale in pursuit of Willie Sutton: A theory of police. In R. Reiner (Ed.), Cops, crime and control: Analysing the police function (Vol. I, pp. 155– 182). Aldershot: Dartmouth. Body-Gendrot, S. (2011). Police marginality, racial logics and discrimination in the banlieues de France. In P. Amar (Ed.), New racial missions of policing (pp. 82–99). London: Routledge. Campbell Collaboration. (2014). Petrosino Policing School protocol. Retrieved May 23, 2020, from https://campbellcollaboration.org/media/k2/attachments/Petrosino_ Policing_Schools_Protocol.pdf.

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Dwyer, A., Ball, M., Lee, M., Crofts, T., & Bond, C. (2020). Barriers stopping LGBTI people from accessing LGBTI police liaison officers: Analysing interviews with community and police. Criminal Justice Studies. https://doi.org/10.1080/1478601X.2020.1786280. Greenberg, S. (2001). Police response to people with mental illness. In M. Reuland, C. S. Broito, & L. Carroll (Eds.), Solving Crime & Disorder Problems (pp. 44–58). Washington, DC: Police Executive Research Forum. Henshall, A. (2018). On the school beat: Police officers based in English schools. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 39(5), 593–606. Herrington, V., & Pope, R. (2014). The impact of police training in mental health: An example from Australia. Policing and Society, 24(5), 501–522. Hirschi, T. (1969). Causes of delinquency. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hoggett, J., & West, O. (2020). Police liaison officers at football: Challenging orthodoxy through communication and engagement. Policing: A Journal of Policy and Practice. https://doi.org/10.1093/police/pay032. Hong Kong Police Force. (2007). School Liaison Programme. Retrieved February 25, 2020 from www.police.gov.hk. Kappeler, V. E., & Gaines, L. K. (2015). Community policing: A contemporary perspective (8th ed.). London & New York: Routledge. Kunst, M. J. J., Saan, M. C., Bollen, L. J. A., & Kuijpers, K. F. (2017). Secondary traumatic stress and secondary posttraumatic growth in a sample of Dutch police family liaison officers. Stress and Health, 33, 570–577. Lab, S. (2004). Crime prevention: Approaches, practices and evaluations (5th ed.). Cincinnati: Anderson Publishing. Macpherson, W. (1999). The Stephen Lawrence inquiry. London: HMSO. Mason-Bish, H. (2013). Conceptual issues in the construction of disability hate crime. In A. Roulstone & H. Mason-Bish (Eds.), Disability, hate crime and violence (pp. 11–24). London & New York: Routledge. Nihart, T., Lersch, K.  M., Sellers, C.  S., & Mieczkowski, T. (2005). Kids, cops, parents and teachers: Exploring juvenile attitudes toward authority figures. Western Criminology Review, 6(1), 79–88. Nislow, N. (2000). Psych job: The Memphis PD.s crisis intervention team reinvents police response to EDPs. Law Enforcement News, 26, 545. Novak, K., & Engel, R. (2005). Disentangling the influence of suspects’ demeanor and mental disorder on arrest. Policing: An International Journal of Police Strategies and Management, 28(3), 493–512. Omnibus Crime Control and Safe Streets Acts 1968 (US). Panzarella, R., & Alicea, J. (1997). Police tactics in incidents with mentally disturbed persons. Policing: An International Journal of Police Strategies and Management, 20(2), 326–338. Perkins, E., Cordner, G., & Scarborough, K. (1999). Police handling of people with mental illness. In L. Gaines & G. Cordner (Eds.), Policing perspectives: An anthology (pp. 289– 297). Los Angeles: Roxbury Publishing. Reuland, M., & Margolis, G. (2003). Police approaches that improve the responses to people with mental illnesses: A focus on victims. The Police Chief: The Professional Voice of Law Enforcement, 70(11), 7.

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Scarman, L. (1981). The Brixton disorders. London: HMSO/Penguin. Scheffer, M. W. (1987). Policing from the schoolhouse: Police-school liaison and resource officer programs—A case study. Springfield, IL: C.C. Thomas Publisher. Shaw, M. (2004). Police, schools and crime prevention: A preliminary review of current practices. International Centre for the Prevention of Crime. Draft discussion paper. Steadman, H., Deane, M. W., Borum, R., & Morrissey, J. P. (2000). Comparing outcomes of major models of police responses to mental health emergencies. Psychiatric Services, 51(5), 645–649. Stott, C., Khan, S., Madsen, E., & Havelund, J. (2020). The value of supporter liaison officers (SLOs) in fan dialogue, conflict, governance and football crowd management in Sweden. Soccer & Society, 21(2), 196–208. Wells, W., & Schafer, J. (2006). Officer perceptions of police responses to persons with a mental illness. Policing: An International Journal of Police Strategies and Management, 29(4), 578–601. Williams, E., Norman, J., & Nixon, K. (2018). Violence against women: Public health or law enforcement problem or both? International Journal of Police Science & Management, 20(3), 196–206. Willis, M. (2010). Aboriginal liaison officers in community policing. In J.  Putt (Ed.), Community policing: Current and future directions for Australia—Research and public policy (pp. 41–48). Canberra: Australian Institute of Criminology.

Part III Critical Vulnerability Issues

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Southernising Vulnerability

Introduction It seems obvious that the world is divided by the equator and that everything above the line is north, and everything below, south. Yet, it is only so when viewed from a particular perspective. As with many binaries, it is often the first named that is the reference point, from which all others are assessed; for example, man/woman, abled/disabled, white/black, north/south, and so on. As north is at the top of the map, then as with other hierarchies, south is perceived and treated as derivatives of the north. Putting aside the thorny issue that the world is round, and depending from what point of perspective, Australia (or any other country) could be oriented in any direction (north, south, east, or west), the north/south divide operates beyond a geographical marker. It is not coincidental that countries in the south are poorer and in many cases dependent upon northern nations for their economic activity and prosperity. On their voyages of ‘exploration’, northern, largely European, explorers found new places absent from their earlier maps. People had been living in these newly discovered southern countries before any white European explorer ‘found’ them. Yet, it was through this process of exploration (and later expropriation and colonisation) that ‘advances’ in human knowledge were transferred from the north to the south, at the same time that the resources and wealth from the south were expropriated to the north (Connell 2007). This transfer of wisdom and knowledge

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_9

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to the south, and wealth to the north, created a set of relationships between the north and south that continues today.

Concepts The concept of Global North/South was devised in the 1980s in response to a report into international development issues. As chair of the Independent Commission, the former German Chancellor, Willy Brandt, sought to address the massive chasm in life experiences between those in the north and south. He advocated for the reversal of the flows of wealth initiated during the voyages of exploration in order to rebalance economic security. In this respect, he sought to flip the agenda in terms of economics, and in terms of the need to reinvest in the individual, social, and institutional determinants of wellbeing for those in the Global South. One output of this review of world economic and social wealth was the creation of the Global South/North map. Rather than simply replicating the geographical line between north and south, Brandt sought to capture the geographical divide between powerful and powerless, developed and developing worlds. In doing so, Brandt highlighted that while most of the powerful, developed nations are in the north, some are geographically placed in the south. In particular, the map tracks closely with the Tropic of Cancer until it arrives in Asia, when it dips down to collect countries such as Japan, Australia, and New Zealand into the Global North (Carrington et al. 2016, 2019b, 7). An important factor to consider with the division between Global South and Global North is that within any Global North nation there are populations whose experiences are more closely linked to those living in the Global South. Conversely, some Global South nations have pockets that better reflect the life experiences of the Global North. Policing practices—especially in relation to vulnerable people— are intrinsically linked to local geography. What works in the highlands of Scotland, will not work for the low-lying island of The Maldives; and vice versa. For example, if you live on an island nation, issues with safety and security on the water will be more important than it would be for nations that are largely landlocked. Island nations also have to contend with the emerging environmental destruction expected from global warming and rising sea levels. Security issues that may arise as a result of environmentally based asylum seeking will be felt by exile and host nations, but in very different ways (White 2018; Brisman et al. 2018).

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The field of policing—and criminology more generally—is based on the assumption that crime emerged as a problem in the wake of the industrialisation and urbanisation.

In both theory and practice, the large urban town is framed as the site of disorder and crime. Yet, most of the Global South is rural and remote (Carrington et  al. 2019b; Donnermeyer 2018), and some types of crimes, especially violence against women, are more prevalent in these rural locales (McIlwaine 2013). In relation to policing in Trinidad and Tobago, Watson argues that the ‘geography’ of policing in the Global South is difficult because of the ‘…many well-known escape routes, poor road surface conditions and open drainage that hampers policing … presenting a problem for police access during acts of policing, specifically search and rescue or high-speed chases or pursuits’ (Watson 2018, 31–32). Without a clear understanding of how geography changes policing practices, it is difficult to ascertain how applying northern approaches to policing in the Global South uncritically exacerbates the conditions of vulnerable populations (Carrington et al. 2019b, 22). An additional concept to consider in southernising vulnerability in policing is that countries in the Global South have traditionally operated within a paramilitary model of policing, often dictated by nation’s executive, or in the case of countries such as China and Vietnam, by a single party system. While delayed in their ‘progress’ to democratic policing, many Global South countries have embarked on a voyage towards ‘policing by consent’. But they are undertaking this journey under very different contexts to the journey when undertaken by European nations in the eighteenth century, including the contexts of vulnerability. Adapting this model to local contexts has meant that police in the Global South have been able to pick and choose between approaches, and to create policing systems that operate more line with the rhetoric than the practices of the Global North (Hogg 2018; Owens 2018; Biecker and Schlichte 2014). Global South nations have therefore been able to evaluate what went wrong, and what works, and then to adapt these strategies to the cultural, linguistic, social, and geographical concerns of their own nation. In effect, they are trialling Democratic Policing 2.0, while those in the Global North continue to be tethered to the historical baggage accumulated over the last 200 years. Residents of the Global South often migrate to the Global North and bring with them their own attitudes and beliefs about the police and about policing practices. At a basic level, there will be a dissonance between their existing knowledge of the police, and the terrain covered by policing in their new home. This dissonance is likely to be fraught and shaded by a high level of distrust, especially those who migrate north from authoritarian or paramilitary systems of governance. Understanding this context is important not only in relation to frontline policing

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(and the individual’s capacity to understand what the police are requiring of them) but also in terms of (re)building trust in policing and engaging residents who have conventionally done everything possible to avoid contact with the police.

In Practice Many policing services in the Global South have embarked on a democratisation process only in the last 50 years, and often in the wake of authoritarian regimes, which used their policing services (and military) against its own people for political gains (Sozzo 2016). Other Global South nations have a history of single party communist governments, and the democratisation process has been shaped by those governance approaches. Common to both democratisation processes is the need to do more with less, even in relative terms to Global North jurisdictions. Global North austerity measures, which have impacted social services and police, and ‘re-vulnerabilised the vulnerable’, are new to northern policing services, and it has been only in the last 10–15 years that they have had to face shrinking budgets. In the Global South, while a similar disproportionate amount of resources is allocated to the police—when compared to health, education, welfare, for example— they have had to operate on smaller budgets for longer than their Global North peers, and to that extent, have much to teach to the Global North, in some areas of policing. Global South policing services have to contend with two additional factors that Global North police do not. First, as a result of the long history of police being used against the people, there is higher levels of distrust in the police in the Global South. During civil wars, juntas, and totalitarian regimes, the police were used against the ‘enemy within’ in similar ways that the military is used in war, and as a consequence, increased the vulnerability of all residents. In addition to the militarisation of police, during these regimes, the law was marginalised in favour of extra-­judicial killings, and as Sozzo (2016, 338) points out these aberrant practices ‘…spread beyond the boundaries of what the dictatorial regimes defined as “political crime” extending to police activities related to “common crime”’. Given the animosity between police and communities emerging from regime rule, some communities have found alternative means in which to maintain a semblance of law and order.

At times, the alternative community responses developed to address authoritarian practices were pathological, such as the gangs that control some favelas in

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South American nations (Sozzo 2016). Yet, in the absence of ‘policing by consent’, marginalised and vulnerable communities have been forced into finding different solutions to the problems they face. While much is made of the criminal nature of these gangs, much less is noted about the ways in which these gangs and their families provide mutual aid to those forgotten by their governments and policing services. Watson (2018) argues, in relation to Trinidad and Tobago, that for some vulnerable and marginalised communities, the social norms fostered within tight community networks is stronger and more effective in controlling crime than the police. The mutual aid, and social norms, of these communities are not unique to the Global South. In recent months, in response to the murder of George Floyd, many African American communities have created their own mutual aid groups to assist not only with the fallout from protests (such as medical aid) but also the impact of COVID-19 on access to food and medicines (Innocence Project 2020). A second critical factor that Global South policing must contend with is the legacies of colonisation. As noted by Owens (2018), more people live under the conditions of post-colonial policing than those living with the legacies of the Anglo-­American model of policing. While our attention on post-colonial policing is often turned to the Global South, even European nations have had to manage the transition to post-colonialism (e.g., Cyprus and Northern Ireland). Owens argues that: Postcolonial policing is therefore a better reflection of our common global experience than is the hegemonic Anglo-American model, and it follows that postcolonial policing is far from a marginal or minority area of interest within police studies (Owens 2018, 303).

Police in the Global South have also had to grapple with the conflicting ethos between before and after democratisation, and the remnants of authoritarian and colonialist laws that remain on the books (Carrington et al. 2019b; Owens 2018). As noted by Ekpo-Otu (2013) in relation to the policing of women’s sexuality in Southern Nigeria, at times local chiefs and elders were complicit with colonial powers to impose models of morality for women that criminalised behaviours long accepted within their traditional culture. In effect, Global South policing may be operating under new policies and practices, and a new ethos of ‘policing by consent’ whilst at the same time abiding by laws that are no longer accepted by the communities they serve (Owens 2018; Baker 2008). This uneasy transition is most obvious in the new South Africa, which despite 25  years of post-apartheid rule, is still undoing the legacy of white supremacist rule. The impact of these two factors—use of police against the public,

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and hybrid systems of post-colonial governance—often means that the language and practices of the police are not well understood (as a result of poverty and illiteracy) and may well be spoken in a language not common to the people policed. It also means that ‘…millions of clients of policing services across the globe approach their interactions with absolutely no knowledge of their own rights, and in fact no expectations of actually having any’ (Owens 2018, 315). It is within these contexts that Global South policing services operate, and as a consequence, create new forms of democratic policing. It is not possible to fully survey all the innovations in policing practice in the Global South as they relate to vulnerability; instead we provide below three strategies that are already having an impact on policing and vulnerable people in the Global South.

Law Enforcement and HIV/AIDS As noted in Chap. 4, the public health aspects of policing are being transformed, across the world. One area where there has been much advancement of the public health agenda is in relation to managing human immunodeficiency virus/acquired immunodeficiency syndrome (HIV/AIDS). While in the Global North, HIV/AIDS has had the most impact on specific population groups—gay men, injecting drug users, sex workers—in the Global South, the virus has had a much wider impact on the population as a whole. In the Global South, policing has had a disproportionate impact on the prevention of HIV/AIDS; both positively and negatively. Research from both north and south have documented the iatrogenic harms caused to vulnerable populations by policing strategies that create barriers to prevention work. In particular, Lunze et  al. (2014, 2016) and Khosla (2009) have documented the harms created by targeting sex workers and injecting drug users in Russia and Bangladesh. They note that sex workers are often forced to have sex with police officers to avoid arrest, and in the case of Bangladesh, Khosla (2009) notes that 72% of street-based sex workers under the age of 25 years have been coerced into sex with police. Lunze et al. (2014, 2016) and Khosla (2009) also note that many injecting drug users are detained by police after accessing needle and syringe exchange programmes, with over 60% of users arrested for needle possession in Russia alone (Lunze et  al. 2014). Additionally, in many countries in the Global South, possession of condoms is sufficient for policing services to arrest a person for prostitution (Crofts and Patterson 2016). In response to these targeted campaigns by police to regulate sex workers and injecting drug users, non-government agencies and charities have worked collaboratively with police to create programmes to address the aberrant police actions

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that facilitate the spread of HIV/AIDS, to build trust between police and affected communities, and build the capacity of police to be change agents. Tenni et  al. (2015) document some of these strategies including: • The Pora Sapot program in Papua New Guinea, which aims to increase the knowledge and skills of police to engage in preventative work, including the provision of safe sex and safe drug using paraphernalia. • The Vikas Jyot Trust’s (VJT) program in India, which provides police with awareness training. This program has led to a notification service that informs the VJT when a sex worker has been arrested and facilitates access to appropriate legal and welfare support • The Keep Alive Societies Hope (KASH) program in Kenya that teams up police officers and peer educators to train officers on HIV/AIDS and laws on sex work, and to map and address violence against sex workers. A similar program has been created in Ghana. • The collaborative development of robust strategies and protocols by the Nepal Police to address police practices that create barriers to preventing HIV/AIDS, and to provide policy directives and training to all police officers. • The Resourcing Health and Education in the Sex Industry’s (RhED) ‘Ugly Mugs’ program in Victoria, Australia, which identifies dangerous clients and locations, and provides police with information to investigate cases of violence against sex workers. As noted by Crofts and Jardine (2016), those most at risk of contracting HIV/AIDS are also those most likely to have their behaviours criminalised and heavily policed, and as such, policing practices are a major determinant in preventing HIV/ AIDS. The Law Enforcement and HIV Network (http://www.leahn.org/), established by police in collaboration with scholars and non-government organisations, is a key source for information about the role of police in preventing HIV/AIDS.

Women’s Police Stations As in the Global North, women in the south are disproportionately vulnerable to sexual and physical violence, often at the hands of their intimate partner. Few victims of gendered violence report their experiences to the police, and those that do are often re-victimised by the process. Emerging in the mid-1980s in South America, Women’s Police Stations were created to address the victimisation and under-­reporting of that victimisation to police. What started as a trial in Brazil, has

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been transferred to policing services in Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Ecuador, Nicaragua, Peru, Uruguay, Sierra Leone, India, Ghana, India, Kosovo, Liberia, the Philippines, South Africa, and Uganda (Carrington et al. 2019b, 58). As part of the re-democratisation process in Brazil and Argentina, gendered violence such as femicide was prioritised by policing services, with new laws, policies, and practices established to build trust between police and female victims, increase reporting, prevent re-victimisation, and as a symbolic gesture to the community that gendered violence is unacceptable. When combined with other public health strategies, such as women-only public transport, these approaches to gendered violence foreground the important role that police can make in reducing the vulnerability of women. Jubb et  al.’s (2011) evaluation of the Women’s Police Stations in South and Central America found that over 60% of participants believed the approach had reduced gendered violence in their country, as well as increasing the willingness to report, ‘…increased the likelihood of conviction, and enlarged access to a range of other services such as counselling, health, legal, financial, and social support’ (Carrington et al. 2019b, 59).

Local Governance The final example of innovations in practice is the creation of local safety strategies in Indigenous communities. While this example comes from a Global North jurisdiction—Australia—as noted earlier, the sociological concept of Global South also aims to address the differential experiences of some people residing in Global North countries; in particular, the lived experiences of Indigenous peoples. Given the gap between Indigenous forms of safety and those imposed by post-colonial states, alternative strategies for fostering safety and wellbeing are critical to address the over-representation of Indigenous peoples in custody (Cunneen 2018). In the early years of colonisation, police played a critical role in policing and controlling (and in some cases, contributing to the genocide of) Indigenous populations.

This created estranged relationships between the police and the original inhabitants that remain today (Owens 2018). One strategy that aims to facilitate law and order in Indigenous communities is local governance. Rather than being directed and controlled by state agencies far from their communities, with little knowledge of local customs and laws, local governance empowers Indigenous communities to manage their own affairs, including some activities traditionally considered within

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the remit of the police. One example of this is the Torres Strait Regional Authority, which was established in 1954, and enables residents of the Torres Strait to govern by ‘Ailan Kastom’ (Island Customs) (Carrington et al. 2019b, 86). Beyond the normal governance tasks, the Authority is responsible for recruiting local police, administering local courts, and controlling entry onto the islands of the Torres Strait (Carrington et al. 2019b). Another local governance strategy deployed by Indigenous communities in Australia is Aboriginal Night Patrols (Scott et  al. 2018). Initially created in the 1980s, night patrols were adopted by many remote and rural Indigenous communities, along with some urban sites. The goals of the night patrols vary from community to community, but in essence they aim to prevent harm and maintain community peace and safety (Australian Institute of Criminology 2004). Staffed by volunteers from the community, and supported by local police, the night patrols provide a bridge between the police and community and deflect matters away from the police when a local community response is more effective. This approach to local governance could be bolstered by additional strategies adopted in other Indigenous communities, such as the Maranguka Justice Reinvestment Project in the rural community of Bourke (Cunneen 2020). This programme introduced three ‘circuit breakers’ to reduce the negative contact with police, including changes to how breaches of bail and outstanding warrants are processed by police. This programme has resulted in dramatic decreases in reported domestic violence, offending by youth, and breaches of bail. As a side effect, it has also resulted in a 31% increase in school retention (Cunneen 2020). Case Scenario South African Police and the Occult-Related Crimes Unit

Four years after the election of the first post-­apartheid government in South Africa in 1994, the South African Police Service established the Occult-Related Crimes Unit to address the worrying increase in these types of crimes. As noted by Comaroff and Comaroff (2004), occult-related crimes represent a ‘strain gauge’: the more strain and stress in a community, the more likely occult-­related crimes are committed, with the parallel issue that ‘witch belief’ often prevents victims seeking social or health care (Mkhonto and Hanssen 2018). In the postapartheid era, black South African communities experienced significant levels of strain and stress as their systems of governance were quickly transformed yet their lived experiences remained much as they were under Afrikaner-led governments.

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As with other post-colonial nations, South Africa has a hybrid mix of local and national policing approaches, including in some cases, ‘home (or traditional) rule’. There are also a variety of cultural practices that have been fostered even during colonial rule, including consultation with traditional faith healers to ward off, and protect against, mystical evil. Traditional healers are also consulted to bring good luck such as good grades at school, successful job seeking, and even with the aim to influence political elections (Comaroff and Comaroff 2004). According to the 1995 Commission of Inquiry into Witchcraft Violence and Ritual Murders in the Northern Province, ‘…most Africans regard magical attacks as normal, everyday events—a reality incompatible with European law, which criminalizes witch finding’ (cited in Comaroff and Comaroff 2004, 523). As such, and in abidance with human rights legislation (Lee 2016), the OccultRelated Crimes Unit is not focussed on the actions of witches and traditional faith healers; instead, it is those who attack these practitioners that are the focus on the unit. While there were over 300 witch-related killings in the Northern Province in the 10-year period between 1985 and 1995, the South African Police Service recorded 676 killings in 1996 alone; many of whom were women (Lee 2016). This significant increase in attacks against traditional healers meant that ‘… something had to be done, and very fast’ (Comaroff and Comaroff 2004, 524). Yet, police were caught in a predicament; they could ignore the witchcraft and leave its management to local authorities, or they could outlaw a widely held set of beliefs but in doing so acknowledge the significance of these practices by embedding them in law. In practice, the government (and police) were required to address ‘…the incommensurability between a Eurocentric national law founded on liberal principles and vernacular African beliefs in the occult, beliefs that defy investigation or interrogation under the usual terms of Western legal reason’ (Comaroff and Comaroff 2004, 530). To ignore it was to leave its (often violent) prosecution in the hands of local authorities, a situation incompatible with ‘civilised’ governance. But to outlaw magical practices and the means of disciplining them seemed to recognise their reality and to acknowledge their significance (Comaroff and Comaroff 2004, 529). In response to the Witchcraft Summit in 1998, the South African Police Service assigned the label of ‘priority crime’ to witch killings. In response to the conundrum of addressing spiritual matters within a neoliberal system of law and governance, South African Police Service liaison officers have had to find new ways to influence people’s actions and reactions of witch-

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craft. Comaroff and Comaroff (2004, 531, 541) note that these officers must ‘… cross the planes of the bureaucratic and the spiritual’ to address what the officers consider ‘…mundane work of policing in the countryside’. At times, these officers exchange their police uniforms with the garb of traditional healers to bridge that gap between the particularistic needs of local communities and the universal rule of law. ◄ A View from the Frontline

Southern perspectives on policing have dual aims: to draw attention to the global power dynamics of knowledge production, and to explore variations in policing in different structural environments. By elevating a wider range of policing variations, we have more knowledge to draw on when considering which responses and actions can better serve vulnerable communities. In Vietnam, research on policing and vulnerability can be challenging for Vietnamese scholars to both produce and circulate, particularly because research on policing is typically the purview of the one-party state. In the social sciences and humanities, Vuong and Tran examined some of the dynamics and challenges of knowledge production in their edited book The Vietnamese Social Sciences at a Fork in the Road (2019). In Chap. 6, Trinh et al. (2019) outline three challenges associated with publishing high-quality research: institutional incentives or resources; international standards; and research ethics. Political sensitivity surrounding studying police practices, combined with difficulty ­publishing research in general, means knowledge about policing and vulnerability in Vietnam has limitations. Nonetheless, it is clear from some research that police in Vietnam respond to vulnerable populations with more flexibility (linh hoạt) than outsiders/foreigners often perceive. Even so, the scope of discretionary responses mean they may not be applied consistently or fairly. Police responses to vulnerability (e.g., youth crime, poverty) have evolved in recent decades alongside economic liberalisation (đổi mới), which required legal reforms to strengthen accountability and transparency to support foreign investment. These reforms also saw opening up to support from international organisations which often sought to improve professionalisation, accountability, and investment in criminal justice reform. Notably, some of these approaches resemble policing approaches in the Global North which are currently the focus of arguments for ‘defunding’ or the redistribu(continued)

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(continued) tion of resources away from criminal justice and to other sectors and community organisations. Part of the Police Academy curriculum in Vietnam includes a one-month homestay (of a four-year training programme) with a family unknown to the police recruit. It is referred to as an internship where the trainee officer learns to be close to the community and listens to their concerns. Such an embedding of young officers in communities is meant to build trust between the police and these communities, and sensitise police to the needs of different neighbourhoods from where they grew up. Indeed, one of the drawbacks of police getting to know the community in Vietnam too well is that they may use discretion too liberally. Southern strategies to policing vulnerability are important: they demonstrate there are often wider alternatives to understanding who the police are and what they should do than is described in dominant, typically Northern, literature. These approaches may not necessarily be ‘emerging’ because they have often existed for a long time, but they can be regarded as such because theory and practice from the Global South is often regarded as the being on the periphery whereas the Global North is the norm or default. Crucially, there is much to learn from the Global South. Melissa Jardine Global Law Enforcement & Public Health Association Centre for Law Enforcement & Public Health

Conclusion For much of the history of modern policing, knowledge and skills have been transferred uncritically from the Global North to the Global South, without consideration of how local cultures, languages, beliefs, and practices may impact on how that work is undertaken in the south. As we have documented in this chapter, not only is this a problem of the north imposing on the south, but also that southern policing services operate under very different laws, policies, and practices, which at times conflict with the ethos of northern forms of democratic policing. What happens in the Global South may not seem to have an impact on police in the Global North; yet, we must remain mindful that while colonisation has destroyed

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many local cultures and practices, the remnants of these continue to influence how policing is done, and to whom. One critical issue not discussed in this chapter, but common to all jurisdictions is the increasingly pluralised nature of crime control. A variety of stakeholders (such as ‘…militaries, traditional authorities, civil defence forces, judiciaries… vigilantes, militias, ad-hoc community juries and religious authorities’; Owens 2018, 304) are now responsible for tasks traditionally assigned to police. This privatisation of security and safety is insufficiently regulated in the Global North, and even less so in the Global South, where some non-state actors have been instrumental in furthering the goals of transnational corporations (such as mining companies) over the needs of the local population. For vulnerable people, this kaleidoscope of policing stakeholders does not mean that their needs are considered more often; on contrary, it means that access to safety is fractured. We have noted, however, that there are important strategies being developed in the Global South, which are worthy of transfer to the north. In particular, Women’s Police Stations, public health strategies, and local governance may go some way to address the needs of vulnerable people in both the Global South and Global North.

Activities 1. Choose a country from the Global South, and undertake a webquest to explore the approaches to policing in that jurisdiction. • What are some of the similarities to your policing jurisdiction? What are some of the differences? • How does your identified policing service address the needs of vulnerable people? • Evaluate the relevance of these alternative approaches to the work of Global North policing? 2. What strategies developed for the Global South could be transferred to the Global North? Consider these in terms of: • Sex workers • Homeless people • Young people

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Readings and Resources Carrington, K., Hogg, R., Scott, J., Sozzo, M., & Walters, R. (2019a). Southern criminology. London and New York: Routledge. Jardine, M. (2020). A Southern policing perspective and appreciative inquiry: An ethnography of policing in Vietnam. Policing and Society, 30(2), 186–205. Law Enforcement and HIV Network. (2020). Resources. Retrieved April 12, 2020, from http://www.leahn.org/resources

Bibliography Australian Institute of Criminology (2004). Night patrols. AICrime reduction matters, 26. Canberra: Australian Institute of Criminology. Baker, B. (2008). Multi-choice policing in Africa. Uppsala, Sweden: The Nordic Africa Institute. Biecker, S., & Schlichte, K. (2014). Policing Uganda, policing the world. InIIS Working Paper, 40. Bremen: Institute for Intercultural and International Studies (InIIS), University of Bremen. Retrieved from https://nbnresolving.org/urn:nbn:de:0168-­ssoar-­67416-­2 Brisman, A., South, N., & Walters, R. (2018). Climate apartheid and environmental refugees. In K. Carrington, R. Hogg, & S. J. Sozzo (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of criminology and the global south (pp. 301–321). London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Carrington, K., Hogg, R., Scott, J., Sozzo, M., & Walters, R. (2019b). Southern criminology. London and New York: Routledge. Carrington, K., Hogg, R., & Sozzo, M. (2016). Southern criminology. British Journal of Criminology, 56(1), 1–20. Comaroff, J., & Comaroff, J. (2004). Policing culture, cultural policing: Law and social order in postcolonial South Africa. Law & Social Inquiry, 29(3), 513–545. Connell, R. (2007). Southern theory: The global dynamics of knowledge in social science. Sydney, NSW: Allen & Unwin. Crofts, N., & Jardine, M. (2016). The role of the police in the HIV response: The Law Enforcement and HIV Network (LEAHN). Sydney: Australian Federation of AIDS Organisation. Crofts, N., & Patterson, D. (2016). Police must join the fast track to end AIDS by 2030. Journal of the International AIDS Society, 19(Suppl 3), 21153. Cunneen, C. (2018). Indigenous challenges for southern criminology. In K.  Carrington, R. Hogg, & S. J. Sozzo (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of criminology and the global south (pp. 19–41). London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Cunneen, C. (2020, June 10). Defunding the police could bring positive change in Australia. These communities are showing the way. The Conversation. Retrieved June 19, 2020, from https://theconversation.com/defunding-­the-­police-­could-­bring-­positive-­change-­in-­ australia-­these-­communities-­are-­showing-­the-­way-­140333 Donnermeyer, J. F. (2018). The rural dimensions of a southern criminology: Selected topics and general processes. In K. Carrington, R. Hogg, & S. J. Sozzo (Eds.), The Palgrave

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handbook of criminology and the global south (pp. 105–120). London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Ekpo-Otu, M. U. (2013). Contestations of identity: Colonial policing of female sexuality in the Cross River region of Southern Nigeria. Inkanyiso: Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences, 5(1), 72–80. Hogg, R. (2018). Southern criminology in the post-colony: More than a ‘Derivative discourse’? In K. Carrington, R. Hogg, & S. J. Sozzo (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of criminology and the global south (pp. 83–104). London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Innocence Project. (2020). How to support the fight for justice, against police violence. Retrieved June 29, 2020, from https://www.innocenceproject.org/how-­to-­help-­justice-­ george-­floyd/ Jubb, N., Comacho, G., D’Angelo, A., Hernández, K., Macassi, I., Meléndez, L., Molina, Y., Pasinato, W., Redrobán, V., Rosas, C., & Yáñez, G. (2011). Women’s police stations in Latin America: An entry point for stopping violence and gaining access to justice. Quito: CEPLAES, IDRC. Khosla, N. (2009). HIV/AIDS Interventions in Bangladesh: What can application of a social exclusion framework tell us?. Journal of Health, Population and Nutrition, 27(4), 587–97. Lee, K.  S. (2016). ‘Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’: Human rights implications of witch-hunts against women in South Africa and Zimbabwe. The Oriental Anthropologist, 16(2), 399–416. Lunze, K., Raj, A., Cheng, D. M., Quinn, E. K., Bridden, C., Blokhina, E., Walley, A. Y., Krupitsky, E., & Samet, J.  H. (2014). Punitive policing and associated substance use risks among HIV-positive people in Russia who inject drugs. Journal of the International AIDS Society, 17(1), 19043. Lunze, K., Raj, A., Cheng, D. M., Quinn, E. K., Lunze, F. I., Liebschutz, J. M., Bridden, C., Walley, A. Y., Blokhina, E., Krupitsky, E., & Samet, J. H. (2016). Sexual violence from police and HIV risk behaviours among HIV-positive women who inject drugs in St. Petersburg, Russia—A mixed methods study. Journal International AIDS Society, 19(4Suppl 3), 20877. McIlwaine, C. (2013). Urbanization and gender-based violence: Exploring the paradoxes in the global South. Environment & Urbanization, 25(1), 65–79. Mkhonto, F., & Hanssen, I. (2018). When people with dementia are perceived as witches. Consequences for patients and nurse education in South Africa. Journal of Clinical Nursing, 27(1–2), e169–e176. Owen, O. (2018). Policing after colonialism. In B.  Bradford, B.  Jauregui, I.  Loader, & J. Steinberg (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of global policing (pp. 303–319). London and New York: SAGE Publications. Scott, J., Barclay, E., Sims, M., Copper, T., & Love, T. (2018). Critical reflections on the operation of aboriginal night patrols. In K. Carrington, R. Hogg, & S. J. Sozzo (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of criminology and the global south (pp. 281–300). London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Sozzo, M. (2016). Policing after dictatorship in South America. In B. Bradford, B. Jauregui, I. Loader, & J. Steinberg (Eds.), The SAGE handbook of global policing (pp. 337–355). London and New York: SAGE Publications.

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Tenni, B., Carpenter, J., & Thomson, N. (2015). Arresting HIV: Fostering partnerships between sex workers and police to reduce HIV risk and promote professionalization within policing institutions: A realist review. PLoS ONE, 10(10), e0134900. Trinh, P.-T. T., Le, T.-H. T., Vuong, T.-T., & Hoang, P.-H. (2019). The question of quality. In Q.-H. Vuong & T. Tran (Eds.), The Vietnamese social sciences at a fork in the road (pp. 121–142). Berlin and Boston: Sciendo. Vuong, Q.-H., & Tran, T. (Eds.). (2019). The Vietnamese social sciences at a fork in the road. Berlin and Boston: Sciendo. Watson, D. (2018). Police and the policed: Language and power relations on the margins of the global south. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. White, R.  D. (2018). The global context of transnational environmental crime in Asia. In K. Carrington, R. Hogg, & S. J. Sozzo (Eds.), The Palgrave handbook of criminology and the global south (pp. 281–300). London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

Police Vulnerability

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Introduction The vulnerability of police officers is increasingly a strategic concern and a central business priority for police organisations. This is only logical, when one considers the operational implications of managing personnel who have been injured or present with conditions such as depression or post-traumatic stress disorders as a result of the work they do. Absenteeism, early retirement, maladaptive behaviours (such as excessive drinking or violence1), emotional challenges, suicidal ideation, neurosis, injuries and loss in job satisfaction are only but a few issues accompanying work-related mental ill-health (Bakker et al. 2019; Bell and Eski 2015; Gershon et al. 2009; Marmar et al. 2006; Soomro and Yanos 2018). The occupational context in which police officers operate puts them at risk of being physically and psychologically injured (Skolnick 1966). The issues of mental and physical well-being have traditionally been perceived separately. In reality, we have come to realise that they are complex, intertwined issues that should not always be dealt with separately: chronic exposure to acute stressors can negatively impact on both the physical and emotional health of police officers (Papazoglou et al. 2020), and emotional and physical stress is documented as having an impact

 There is evidence of police officers using alcohol as self-medication, to numb feelings of helplessness or depression, to relax, gain sleep, and in order to deal with the trauma associated with exposure to tragedy (Karaffa and Koch 2016). 1

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_10

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on the immune system, cardiovascular disease and mental health (Gershon et al. 2009; Karaffa and Koch 2016). In this chapter, we argue that the vulnerability of police officers spans some large areas of concern, and that vulnerability needs to be perceived through individual, operational, and organisational lenses.

Concepts The working context of policing is one that repeatedly exposes police officers to stress, trauma, hardship, critical incidents, and physical dangers on a daily basis. These include, and are not limited to deaths, vehicle crashes, shootings and other events involving weapons, overdoses, violence, acute disadvantage, neglect, and abuse. It is rare that police officers interact with community members in positive circumstances, in which all is well, and where everyone is happy. When this does occur, it is often to discuss delicate situations, or what to do when difficult conditions arise. As a matter of fact, many scholars have described the policing profession as one of the most dangerous and stressful profession (Gershon et al. 2009; Karaffa and Koch 2016; Marmar et al. 2006). Campbell also describes the policing profession as a ‘risk profession’ (2004, 696). Studies have now documented that the risk of police officers experiencing PTSD after constant exposure to trauma is roughly four to six times that of the general population (Bakker et al. 2019; Bell and Eski 2015). Being regularly exposed to risks, they also perceive dangerousness and unpredictability more highly than the community (Soomro and Yanos 2018). Before these aforementioned studies, which are more clinical in nature, Reiner (1998) describes the work of police officers around dangerousness, untrustworthiness, conservatism, cynicism and suspicion. Essentially, the majority of police work is built around the likelihood of people they encounter being ‘risks’ or ‘at risk’—in other words, the vulnerability of people to be victims, offenders, or witnesses. As framed by Stanford (2012), people’s vulnerabilities and propensity to ‘risks’ or to be ‘at risk’—their capacity to do good or bad—revolve around their risk identities: one’s capacity to be dependant or independent (of people and services), trustworthy or untrustworthy, culpable or innocent, dangerous or safe. Contributing to an image of police ‘in-vulnerability’ (even though there is no such thing; Dehaghani and Newman 2017; Fineman 2008), is the power dynamic that unfolds during these policing encounters. The police officer is the person in power in these situations, and according to principles of ‘policing by consent’, has been granted power to protect the vulnerable (victims, witnesses or offenders), make decisions, and enforce the law accordingly.

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Vulnerability and Police Culture Police officers are typically not considered vulnerable (Dehaghani and Newman 2017). The necessary mental and physical good health of police officers is a prevailing characteristic of the policing imagery. The study of police culture has often portrayed policing and law enforcement as an occupation, now a profession, where one ‘takes it on the chin’ or ‘builds a bridge and gets over it’ (Bartkowiak-Théron and Layton 2012; Chan 1997). As a matter of fact, Papazoglou et al. (2020, 74) point out that even recruits are trained ‘…in a way that prioritized serving and protecting civilians in the community, even at their own peril’. Soomro and Yanos (2018, 176) add that trainees are inculcated with the idea that ‘…any loss of control over emotion can potentially jeopardize their career’. They are acclimatised to the idea that witnessing human suffering will be their everyday routine, and that they should prepare accordingly.

The culture of law enforcement is one which mimics the ‘warrior mentality’ (Chan 1997). It values toughness, self-reliance, individual sacrifice, and strength and is one that encourages silence around mental ill-health. This has been attributed to: • pluralistic ignorance (group members individually discard their own circumstance or condition as their own deviance within the group). • false consensus (people wrongly assume that most people think as they do). According to pluralistic ignorance, individuals in cohesive groups, such as police, are led to believe their trauma and need for help is unique, when in fact the majority of the group are traumatised and need help (Karaffa and Koch 2016). According to false consensus, police officers assume that fewer people than they think are attempting to seek help. Seeking help is therefore a taboo, and regarded with distrust and suspicion by other members of the profession (especially when such help is sought from outside the police organisation), and is associated with weakness and moral vulnerability (Bell and Eski 2015; Corbo Crehan 2017). The macho game behind policing has been, and still is, a pervasive image, despite the steps taken to adapt the profession in recognition that it requires more finesse, sophistication and empathy than taken for granted in the past (Bartkowiak-Théron and Layton 2012). It remains, as Soomro and Yanos (2018) outline, that exposure to trauma and its effects are often not acknowledged at all, down played, or dealt with individually and alone.

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To some extent, the stigma associated with police mental ill-health is associated with that of being deemed unfit to practice, untrustworthy and unsafe to partner with (Bell and Eski 2015). Such stigma results in significant marginalisation from the rest of the police membership. However, some are of the opinion that the very culture of policing may be a positive in shifting attitudes towards mental ill-heath and help-seeking behaviour. According to Waddington (1999), the ‘canteen culture’ component of policing may very well help officers in chipping away at the stigma around the issue: water cooler conversations (or those held in the car whilst patrolling) may present opportunities for officers to unload some heavy aspects of their work with colleagues. Engaging in beneficial, almost therapeutic, peer conversations has the potential to create informal peer support networks. The increased acknowledgment of the psychological impact of policing by high profile executive officers, such as AFP Commander Grant Edwards (2019), is also an opportunity for boosting efforts aimed at generating discussions in the workplace about coping mechanisms, therapeutic instruments, and behaviours. Bell and Eski (2015, 98) posit that ‘…police cultures may have the qualities to be(come) a supportive and inclusive environment for police officers experiencing mental health issues’.

Police Individual Vulnerability The on-going exposure to ‘people as problems’ (Bartkowiak-Théron et al. 2017), and ‘dangerous problems’ at that, means that there are specific criteria that need to be put in place for police officers to do their job whilst abiding by rules of ethics, equity and law. An operational police officer needs a certain degree of physical fitness, and the capacity to mentally wear the burden of constantly witnessing tragedy. Such criteria are carefully scrutinised at the point of recruitment, although resilience is a concept now understood as an acquired process, rather than a personality trait2 (van der Meulen et al. 2018). Until recently, though, the mental fitness of a police officer remained a non-issue, until police officers, just like army veterans and emergency personnel, started voicing their concerns around such things as PTSD, trauma, and resilience. There are many terms employed to discuss the mental ill-health of police officers, and how their moral vulnerability can be broken down in several ways (Corbo Crehan 2017).  Police officers also sometimes come to the profession with the intent to bring closure to their own trauma (such as child abuse or the witnessing of a crime). Such background is acknowledged as a predisposition or predictor to further trauma in the career of an officer. 2

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• Moral distress refers to police officers feeling that they did not do ‘enough of the right thing’ in the field to assist or protect a community member (Papazoglou et al. 2020). • Moral injury is used in the extreme cases where a police officer contributes to or witnesses an act of grave violence. The in-depth, empirical study of first responders’ moral suffering or mental ill-­ health is now gaining traction.3 In some way, the study of first-responders’ moral suffering became a necessity due to the sheer increase of anecdotal evidence in the matter. Regardless, general and conceptual studies of police psychology only span the past 25 years, with more clinical (stressor-strain, Nelson and Smith 2016) and empirical (statistical) studies only spanning the last 10 years. These focused studies follow in the footsteps of those of care givers’, healthcare providers’, and social workers’ mental health, as they constantly work in strained conditions, as well as in specific time constraints (emergencies, risk thresholds, and various levels of decision making). Stress has been defined in literature as the level of strain professionals experience in their job. This can include adverse events, but also lack of flexibility and control on decisions, resource cuts and pressure to do more with less (Gershon et al. 2009). The fact that police officers are required to carry out tasks that can lead to stress needs careful attention.

Specifically, the clinical study of mental distress on emergency personnel, such as police, and its impact on operational duties is recent. It started modestly with the study of the impact of decision making on police officers working in a prescriptive environment: the policing profession is one of command-and-control, where occasionally, general duties officers see their discretion hampered by zero tolerance decrees or ministerial decisions. Making the right decision and yet acting ‘against one’s better judgement’, within a tight discretionary framework, takes its toll on the self-esteem and one’s feelings of social relevance and social justice. Slowly, though, the study of moral distress experienced by first-responders started spanning a wider scope. This is due to the evolution of several variables all studied in depth and in synergy.

 By first responders, we mean police officers, as well as emergency personnel such as firefighters, medical personnel, paramedics, rescuers, active and deployed military personnel. 3

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Operational Vulnerability Police work, and specifically the frantic pace of rosters and 12-hour shift work (and the associated lack of sleep; Baller et al. 2001), often means that police officers are continually in response mode, with rare opportunities to reflect on the cases to which they have responded. More importantly, they often lack the time to gauge the psychological implications of being confronted by acts of violence, neglect, or abuse, and their aftermath. Measures of austerity have also had some severe implications in terms of increasing demands and reduce space for the collegial interactions that we were mentioning above. This has severe implications for the feelings of guilt or shame that a police officer may experience when they think they have not done enough or should have chosen a different course of action. Initial work on the topic has occurred in the very specific area of police shootings, or in witnessing the death of a person (Papazoglou et al. 2020). Support networks are important for officers to let go of the potential stressors that can impact on their mental health and wellbeing. Those without supportive families or friends, or those who lack the necessary skills to disconnect from work, are often at risk of only staying in police mode, and therefore aggravating their mental health status. This is particularly important to note, as life circumstances or family/individual histories may predispose officers to greater vulnerability to ongoing trauma (Gershon et al. 2009). One often sees the police officer as a professional construct, without taking into consideration the police officer in their human embodiment, with a past, a history (which they often yearn to tell), and a social or family environment.4 As such, they experience the same circumstances as the rest of the population, and therefore the same exposure to mental illness, which is then compounded by their work environment. It is particularly important, however, to point out that the inability for police officers to distance themselves from their work environment may also ostracise them from the very support networks that are so crucial to their well-being. Research has associated policing-related stress to increases in family conflicts, heightened perceptions of childcare as a burden, as well as instability in relationships, spirituality, and finances (Baller et al. 2001). Police officers’ private lives may be impacted by the context of police work; but their private lives may also be the very solace required to manage that impact.

 We note that it is a critique of stressor-strain clinical studies that they fail to capture such existing coping styles and individual appraisals of hardship, backgrounds and experience (Nelson and Smith 2016). 4

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The physical health of police officers is less of a taboo than their mental wellbeing (Soomro and Yanos 2018). Indeed, the physical health of operational officers is considered crucial to their patrol and crisis duties. Physical injuries are usually carefully scrutinised and managed, and organisational responses are promptly put in place to either replace a police officer when they are stood down while they recover, or seconded to another department or to desk duties before they are cleared by medical practitioners. The impact of such injuries on the psychological health of officers has been discussed more, and with more ease than ‘invisible wounding’ of PTSD, depression, and anxiety. However, the inability of a police officer to do their job because of physical ailments can have its toll on their psyche, and feelings of self-worth, which can translate into mild to moderate forms of depression.

Institutional Vulnerability The vulnerability of police officers does not only lie in their possible encounter with members of the public. It also has to do with the institutional context in which they operate. Corbo Crehan (2017, 71) suggests that ‘…police organisations have been identified as a key source of iatrogenic vulnerability for police officers’. The professional pressures that are placed on police officers to do their job, according to due process, duty of care and ethical rigour, contribute to what Dehaghani and Newman (2017) describe as ‘institutional vulnerability’. As gatekeepers of the criminal justice system, police officers have to make some specific decisions at various points of the policing process. Often, scholars cite those points as: initial contact, point of arrest, custody, and discharge into remand or court. Prosecution is also an area less studied, but coming to prominence as an area where vulnerability (particularly institutional vulnerability) is scrutinised. At each of these points, the responsibility lies with one or two police officers to ascertain that every single step of the policing process is abided by. In such cases, police officers shoulder the burden of making hard decisions, or risk missing the likely needs of an individual, especially when these needs may have been missed by others before. While this sits firmly in the realm of human error, procedural omissions add frailty to the next step, as well as putting pressure on their capacity to defend themselves when called on to justify their actions (another level of moral vulnerability, according to Corbo Crehan 2017). For example, duty or custody officers have to make sure that all processes have been abided by: code compliance, legislation compliance (such as the Police and Criminal Evidence Act (PACE) 1984 in the UK; the Police Offences Act 1935 in Tasmania; the Law Enforcement ­(Powers

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and Responsibilities) Act 2002 (LEPRA) in the New South Wales). Such responsibilities are tied to the proficiency and experience of individual police officers in such matters, which in turn has to do with the amount of training and mentoring officers have had access to before being allocated these new responsibilities. Police defensiveness is a topic that has been under heavy scrutiny in the field of legal ethics, specifically in cases where decision making has led to injuries to members of the public or to the dismissal of a case (Corbo Crehan 2017). The closed nature of police culture can lead to misunderstandings by those looking in from the outside, unaware of the difficulties of the job, and not exposed to the same kind of hazardous working circumstances. The operational vulnerability of police officers, in this situation, has to do with a number of individual and organisational factors, such as emotional paralysis, compassion fatigue, or inner conflict. A police officer may, for example, feel a bit jaded, cynical, or even suspicious when confronted to the vulnerability of individuals. In some ways, such occupational hazards as nonchalance, operational shortcuts or lack of attention due to exposure fatigue, can lead to what Corbo Crehan (2017) has described as a mild form of ‘vulnerability to corruption’. The constant exposure to hardship may mean that because they have seen worse cases, a specific circumstance may be underestimated or waived aside as not being a big deal. The ‘he’s not that vulnerable’ syndrome is known to be a significant hurdle for people to access support services: Practitioners came to conceive of the vulnerability of those suspected and accused of crimes as a burden that added (unnecessary) stress to their working life. Through a combination of a lack of training and manpower, those suspected and accused of crimes who have the biggest problems are seen as a threat to legal professionals as they challenge and expose the institutional frailty upon which they operate. (Dehaghani and Newman 2017, 1222)

Time and resource pressures also mean that officers (often duty or custody officers) have to do their work within specific parameters often set by others. Police officers are usually well intended and dedicated to the community they serve. However, the hard organisational reality is that oftentimes, they cannot provide the support or specialised services that are needed to process cases to the best of their ability. For example, translation services may be missing, non-existent, or lacking at a particular time of day. Measures of austerity (reduction in budgets and human resources) that have been placed on all public services since the 2000s have also added pressure for police officers to do more with less. This means fewer financial resources, but also less time. This triggered resentment on the part of policing professionals. On the

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one hand, spending less time on one case means that less money will be wasted on what can be considered non-law enforcement business (vulnerable people add to the workload of already busy officers). On the other hand, resentment can also relate to officers not having enough time to spend on vulnerability in non-criminal matters, although they might be important to them. Resource cuts to other services such as health or education have obligated police to take responsibility for these cases or situation (Dehaghani and Newman 2017). Austerity cuts have not only been translated into fewer police patrolling the beat; it has also affected the way police do business. The resulting reliance on private businesses to do certain jobs historically associated with police, can also impact on their professional vulnerability. The factors described above are not necessarily exclusive of each other. On the contrary, we observe, in the profession, a pernicious pattern of issues impacting on each other. These can create organisational and emotional snowballs that can severely impact on the wellbeing of police officers. A typical scenario could that of an operational officer, becoming injured whilst on patrol or during the management of a crisis. Being stood down from active duties or the front line, they are placed on desk duty as a custody officer, who now needs to make bail, remand, custody or transfer decisions within limited time, financial and availability resources. The inability to provide support due to measures of austerity may add to the physical and moral distress already felt by the otherwise well-meaning and dedicated officer, and therefore adds to diminished feelings of self-worth and depression.

In Practice The crippling stigma around police mental health is slowly being addressed. Prominent advocates for the mental health and wellbeing of police officers—some former high ranking police officers themselves—have become prominent international voices (Edwards 2019). They have pushed for more operational and organisational transparency around trauma and stigma, and the toll working with people in crisis takes on police officers. Psychoeducation was one of the first steps police organisations took to address the emotional and mental health vulnerability of officers. Preventative and awareness raising training is now occurring in police colleges and academies, although such training is always secondary to mental health first aid training, which is only directed at the ill-health of community members and how to act in cases of self-­ harm or suicidal behaviours. There are some attempts at mentioning the existence of such behaviours within the policing professions, and at adapting the contents of

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teaching materials into reflective practice. The ways in which psychoeducation works is by addressing stereotypes, and by focussing on the acquiring or improvement of individual coping mechanisms, or identify stressors and act on them, when they are modifiable. Some discrete initiatives have however been successful worldwide, carried by former police officers, or organised as fenced-in initiatives led by police unions or advocates. The ‘Emotional Survival’ training run by Dr Kevin Gilmartin, for example, has been successful in both America and Australia. This type of training was always well received by officers and family members (who are invited to attend) and deemed beneficial by all. The knowledge conveyed by psychoeducation is considered a stepping stone to understand the effects of trauma on the body, but also on decision making and behaviour.

According to Papazoglou et  al. (2020, 78), it allows for the minimisation of moral suffering and for controlling—or at least, rationing of such suffering— through the adoption of therapeutic processes and routines (engagement in mindfulness, hobbies and recreational activities, family life, cognitive behaviours, etc.). Its transparency and access by family members or significant others also allows for the creation of close-knit communities of practice, which help to slowly chip away at the negative stigma surrounding mental health, in particular the effect of mental illhealth in police practice. When officers can be unaware that they meet the criteria for mental ill-health, or do not identify with symptoms, psychoeducation allows for officers to have the tools to become self-aware and reflective of their own wellbeing. Most psychoeducation initiatives now insist on the normalisation of mental illness, especially in high risk, volatile professions. Police organisations are working towards building new work environments in which conversations about trauma are welcome, and debriefs about potentially traumatic events are encouraged. While officers are not encouraged to self-diagnose, they are encouraged to seek help and engage in therapy. While attitudinal resistance persists, help-seeking behaviours need to be fully encouraged, especially by police leaders. Evidence-based training has also contributed to normalising organisational instruments such as return-to-­work checks and clearance interviews, sickness and injury monitoring, and off-­work supervision (Bell and Eski 2015), noting that there have been calls to further monitor such health checks or conduct audits as part of a normal work environment (Nelson and Smith 2016). On such issues, trauma-informed policing (as noted in Chap. 7) is a promising development in policing as it looks at the commission of a crime, through the lens of trauma, including the trauma experienced by police officers.

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To address this issue, we asked one of the foremost specialists in first responder mental health, Dr Katy Kamkar (Ph.D., C.Psych) to provide a case scenario of police wellbeing. Dr Kamkar is a clinical psychologist who has a strong reputation as a practitioner and as an advocate for dismantling the stigma surrounding mental ill-health amongst first responders. Case Scenario

Police Officer Well-being Jim Hamilton is a 52-year-­old man married with two young children. He had a good childhood but noted some bullying while in high school, mostly verbal, that led at times to questioning his self-esteem. He worked as a firefighter for five years prior to becoming a police officer. Whilst working as a firefighter he was involved in many work-related trauma incidents. He did not experience any emotional or psychological difficulties for a long time in the conduct of his duties. However, there was an incident one day, where a young child died in a house. Jim was not able to save the child. He was left witnessing the parents screaming. Whenever possible he would avoid that specific location, and was able to cope with the incident such that he continued his work, felt productive, and overall noted a sense of well-being. He also enjoyed the camaraderie in his workplace and was mostly ‘the chef’ when having lunch with his co-workers. He decided to enter policing as it was always his dream to become a police officer. He applied and gained employment as a police officer, a role in which he always was very productive and liked among his colleagues. He always expected perfectionism with himself and ensuring there is justice for all cases. He was promoted to the rank of Sergeant and then Staff Sergeant. He was able to supervise more and more constable police officers and was commended for his leadership. An incident occurred five years into his policing career where he was involved in a car chase and when running after a suspect, he fell, injuring his right knee. He developed chronic pain subsequent to the incident, and shame and guilt related to change of identity and self-perception. He was able to carry on with his policing career, but the demands of the work increased over time, including experiencing more interference with his home life. The latter led to marital strains and mood irritability, which also gradually became noticeable at work. While he enjoyed his work, he gradually felt more fatigue and the sense of pleasure and empathy he had gradually started lessening. The above case study highlights a number of vulnerabilities, as well as a capacity for resilience, which warrant unpacking. The positives, and Jim’s resiliency—including his good occupational functioning, enjoyment of work,

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healthy relationships at work, and positive leadership—demonstrate his capacity to ‘take a break’ from the more negative and traumatic sides of policing. He is seen to have some activities, or even hobbies outside work (such as cooking), which provide some escape from the darker side of his professional life. His passion for his policing work was noticeable to the point that it transpired in physical activity in the workplace, and a satisfaction in a job ‘well done’. The negative indicators revolve around exposures to trauma; in particular, the one while working as a firefighter, being bullied as a child, and later on, chronic pain. Over time, the later led to difficulties coping with demands at work and the perception of not excelling in the job. As a consequence, Jim became unable to balance work and home life, which led to marital strains. This case study highlights some stressors experienced at organisational and operational levels that can lead to operational stress, injuries (including signs of burnout), compassion fatigue, depression, as well as change of identity and selfesteem, and relationship strains. This case study also identifies some tipping points where treatment of trauma and prevention were needed at individual and organisational levels. Throughout the prevention continuum, interventions should have taken place to cater for the trauma probably hidden too well and too much by Jim. The first intervention could have been psychological and support immediately after the death of the child, in addition to peer support, supportive workplace environment (after the knee injury), workload balanced, and ­accommodations if and when needed, pain management, and evidence-­based treatment interventions. Katy Kamkar Centre for Addiction and Mental Health University of Toronto ◄ A View from the Frontline

In England and Wales, the College of Policing has placed emphasis on officers’ acquiring critical thinking and reflective practice skills accessed through higher education. At Canterbury Christ Church University, we introduced a Reflective Practitioner module within the BSc (Hons) in Policing three years ago, for our students (police professionals) to have an opportunity to think about reflective practice and what it means for them in the context of their own role. There are benefits for critical reflection in policing: reflexivity allows professionals to position themselves in their own work environments, and to perceive or make sense of problems when they are initially surprising or incom(continued)

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(continued) prehensible. This ‘space for reflection’ helps police offices deconstruct events/ crimes they have managed as part of their ongoing professional learning. The literature stresses the importance of reflection being routine and embraced as a conscious activity. Given the complex nature of crime involving vulnerability victims and offenders, the benefits of reflecting facilitate continuous approach to the problem-­solving process (identification, monitoring, and evaluation). Critical reflection can therefore generate more specialist knowledge to inform future decision making. Exploring the ‘who’, ‘what’, ‘where’, ‘when’, ‘how’ and ‘why’; the ‘what now’ and ‘what next’ are important questions to explore through this process to consider what can be improved or avoided next time. Research exploring practitioners’ perceptions of dealing with mental health and vulnerability in custody suites demonstrates some of the limitations when officers are not given the opportunity for reflection (Williams et  al. 2020, forthcoming). Findings from this research indicate that when officers deal with high risk people with complex mental health problems in the custody environment, decision-making was often based on officers’ own knowledge and experience. Officers were often ill-equipped with holistic information about the detainee mental health needs and how to assess their vulnerability. Arguably, reflective techniques can help analyse the fullness of the risks presented through gleaning data about detainees, and consider these in terms of improving outcomes for detainees. This more thorough analytical approach would benefit both the ­individual officer assessing the risks and the detainee to ensure their needs were adequately identified and supported. I talked to my students about these research findings to gauge their views as police professionals. They nearly all said that it was rare for police organisations to encourage a ‘space for reflection’. Therefore, police officers are unable to engage in reflection as a conscious activity routinely, despite the complexities of their role. Whilst they mentioned the lack of de-briefings, they felt these would be really valuable. Fostering reflection, with a more consistent use of daily de-briefings, would not only provide a deeper understanding of the problem by considering what happened and how the event prevailed. It would facilitate a conversation about the impact this has on frontline policing, and may go some way to help identify support strategies for police practitioners and importantly, provide opportunities for early intervention if necessary. With the absence of retrospectively asking these reflective questions, the knowledge base is incomplete and potentially compromised. Jenny Norman Canterbury Christ Church University

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Conclusion The very idea that the physical and psychological vulnerabilities of police officers are being acknowledged as a business priority of police organisations should be considered an essential and welcome step forward. Trauma, injuries, and dejection in the workplace should be treated as operational issues that impact on not only the health and well-being of individual members of the workforce, but also the quality of the work members will be able to do in the field, as well as the overall public trust in the police when that work is not done well. The work around the visibility of workplace trauma, championed by a number of prominent figures around the world, means that there are new dynamics unfolding in dismantling stigma and negative, stereotypical perceptions of ‘police as unwavering fighters’. The psychoeducational efforts focusing on police mental-health and being, and on the ­acceptance of police vulnerability, are the building blocks of what can only become the strong foundations of a resilient, confident workforce.

Activity 1. Consider the below diagram. Grab a note book, and diarise how you think you are faring in each of these categories. Jot down whatever comes to mind, as this is a safe space for reflection. This is an exercise intended to identify your strengths, and where you can focus some efforts to further build your resilience.

Colleagues

Social & recreational

Friends

YOU Family

Job role

Institutional

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Whilst doing that exercise, be bold, and honest about your own resilience (or lack of), the things you like to do (or not), and your trigger points. Once you have audited your own context, list next to them, the various ways you can manage them individually or with the help of others (including your own organisation support networks).

Readings and Resources Gilmartin, K. (2002). Emotional survival for law enforcement: A guide for officers and their families. Tucson: E-S Press. Kamkar, K., Edwards, G., Hesketh, I., McFee, D., Papazoglou, K., Pedersen, P., Sanders, K., Stamatakis, T., & Thompson, J. (2019). Dialogue highlights from the LEPH2019 panel on police mental health and well-being. Journal of Community Safety and Well-Being, 5(1). https://doi.org/10.35502/jcswb.123. Kosor, R. D., Blumberg, D., & Papazoglou, K. (2019, May). Intentional grit: Training mental resilience in law enforcement officers. Police Chief Online. Retrieved May 12, 2020, from https://www.policechiefmagazine.org/intentional-­grit/ United Kingdom (UK) College of Policing. (2018). Responding to trauma in policing A practical guide. London: College of the Policing. Retrieved June 8, 2020, from https:// www.college.police.uk/What-­we-­do/Support/Health-­safety/Documents/Responding-­to-­ trauma-­in-­policing.pdf. Vickers, M. H., Kennedy, M., Birch, P., Galovic, S., & Gallagher, P. (2014). May the force be with you: Furthering fresh futures for NSW police psychological strengths, wellbeing and retention: A qualitative pilot study. Sydney: University of Western Sydney.

Bibliography Bakker, A. H. M., Van Veldhoven, M. J. P. M., Gaillard, A. W. K., & Feenstra, M. (2019). The impact of critical incidents and workload on functioning in the private life of police officers: Does weakened mental health act as a mediator? Policing. https://doi.org/10.1093/ police/paz051. Baller, R.D., Anselin, L., Messner, S.F., Deane, G., & Hawkins, D.F. (2001). Structural covariates of U.S. county homicide rates: Incorporating spatial effects. Criminology, 39(3), 561–590. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., Asquith, N. L., & Roberts, K. (2017). Vulnerability as a contemporary challenge for policing. In N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, & K. Roberts (Eds.), Policing encounters with vulnerability (pp. 1–23). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Bartkowiak-Théron, I., & Layton, C. (2012). Educating for vulnerability. In I. Bartkowiak-­ Théron & N.  L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp.  47–64). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press.

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Bell, S., & Eski, Y. (2015). ‘Break a leg—It’s all in the mind’: Police officers’ attitudes towards colleagues with mental health issues. Policing, 10(2), 95–101. Campbell, E. (2004). Police narrativity in the risk society. The British Journal of Criminology, 44(5), 695–714. Chan, J. (1997). Changing police culture: Policing in a multicultural society. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. Corbo Crehan, A. (2017). Some implications of the moral vulnerability of police. In N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, & K. Roberts (Eds.), Policing encounters with vulnerability (pp. 71–85). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Dehaghani, R., & Newman, D. (2017). ‘We’re vulnerable too’: An (alternative) analysis of vulnerability within English criminal legal aid and police custody. Onati Socio-legal Series, 7(6), 1199–1228. Edwards, G. (2019). The strong man: A powerful story of life under fire, and one man’s journey back from the brink. Cammeray: Simon & Schuster. Fineman, M. A. (2008). The vulnerable subject. Yale Journal of Law & Feminism, 20(1), 1–23. Gershon, R. M., Barocas, B., Canton, A. N., Li, X., & Vlahov, D. (2009). Mental, physical, and behavioural outcomes associated with perceived work stress in police officers. Criminal Justice and Behaviour, 36(3), 275–289. Karaffa, K. M., & Koch, J. M. (2016). Stigma, pluralistic ignorance, and attitudes toward seeking mental health services among police officers. Criminal Justice and Behaviour, 43(6), 759–777. Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Act 2002 (New South Wales, Australia). Marmar, C. R., McCAslin, S. E., Metzler, T. J., Best, S., Weiss, D. S., Fagan, J., Liberman, A., Pole, N., Otter, C., Yehuda, R., Mohr, D., & Neylan, T. (2006). Predictors of posttraumatic stress in police and other first responders. Annals, New York Academy of Science, 1071(1), 1–18. Nelson, K.  V., & Smith, A.  P. (2016). Occupational stress, coping and mental health in Jamaican police officers. Occupational Medicine, 66, 488–491. Papazoglou, K., Blumberg, D.  M., Kamkar, K., McIntyre-Smith, A., & Koskelainen, M. (2020). Addressing moral suffering in police work: Theoretical conceptualization and counselling implications. Canadian Journal of Counselling and Psychotherapy, 54(1), 71–87. Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (UK). Police Offences Act 1935 (Tasmania, Australia). Reiner, R. (1998). The politics of the police (3rd ed.). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Skolnick, J. (1966). Justice without trial: Law enforcement in democratic society. Quid Pro Books (4th ed., 2011). Soomro, S., & Yanos, P. T. (2018). Predictors of mental health stigma among police officers: The role of trauma and PTSD. Journal of Police and Criminal Psychology, 34, 175–183. Stanford, S. (2012). Critically reflecting on being ‘at risk’ and ‘a risk’ in vulnerable people policing. In I. Bartkowiak-Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 20– 32). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Van der Meulen, E., ven der Velden, P.  G., Setti, I., & van Veldhoven, J.  P. M. (2018). Predictive value of psychological resilience for mental health disturbances: A three-wave prospective study among police officers. Psychiatry Research, 260, 486–494.

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Waddington, P. (1999). Police (canteen) subculture. British Journal of Criminology, 39, 287–309. Williams, E., Norman, J., & Brown, M. (2020). Policing and mental health: Do we really get it? In J. McDaniel, K. Moss, & K. Pease (Eds.), Policing and mental health: Theory, policy and practice (pp. 201–220). London: CRC Press.(continued)(continued)

Targeted Violence

11

Introduction It is when we consider targeted violence that the various layers of vulnerability are exposed. Here, we focus on two forms of targeted violence—domestic and family violence, and hate crimes. The first vulnerabilises all women, and the second targets vulnerable people for harm. Domesticated terrorism, in the form of both domestic violence and hate crimes, target vulnerable people and communities, and failure to respond appropriately to this targeted violence can exacerbate and deepen the vulnerability of victims. Considering vulnerability in targeted violence enables us to identify and address the causes of this type of violence, and the critical role that police can play in preventing additional harm and, in conjunction with other stakeholders, eliminate the conditions that give rise to all forms of targeted violence. Both forms of targeted violence involve an in terrorem effect—the aim is to make others fearful—and are most often committed by powerful people against powerless and vulnerable people.

Concepts Terrorism is a form of targeted violence that has dominated policing agendas for at least 20 years. Most targeted violence can be conceived as ‘politically motivated’ (Australian ASIO Act 1979, s4), yet most fail to be considered as such by g­ overnments. © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_11

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Criminal behaviour that aims to terrorise includes not only activities traditionally considered as terrorism—such as the various attacks on public spaces over the last 20 years—but also intimate partner violence and hate crime. As Mornington (2001) identifies, while policing and security agencies are focussed on the terror that is imposed on states and their people, women have long experienced a domesticated version of terrorism, which impacts on the individual, victimised woman, and shapes all women’s relationships with men, and their attendant avoidance behaviours. The in terrorem effect stands at the core of hate crimes, as Asquith (2004), Iganski (2001), and Perry and Alvi (2012) point out. It is important to remember that the thin line between targeted violence and terrorism is a product of a criminal justice system that has consistently ignored and undervalued the impact of more domesticated versions of terror such as intimate partner violence and hate crime. We should also consider that the failure to respond to hate crime victimisation may provide the context in which victims are radicalised and go on to commit acts of terrorism (see View from the Frontline for a discussion of this link between hate crime and terrorism). In contrast to the very low likelihood of being a victim of terrorism, between one in three (Mouzos and Makkai 2004) and one in six (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2018) women in Australia are victims of domestic violence, and a third of all homicides are related to family and domestic violence (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2018). While significantly under-reported (Asquith 2012), hate crimes impact marginalised communities through primary victimisation, as well as through the vicarious harms caused to the victim’s communities. In their research on violence against the LGBTIQ community, the NSW Attorney General’s Department (2003) found that over 80% of those surveyed knew of someone within the community that had been attacked because of their sexuality and/or gender identity. The in terrorem (Asquith 2004; Iganski 2001) and ‘ripple’ (Noelle 2002; Perry and Alvi 2012) effects of these crimes spread well beyond the individual and their friends and family to include all members of the targeted group.

Domesticated Terror Whereas terrorism seeks to make us all fearful, family and domestic violence is much more tightly focussed on instilling fear in individual victims who are predominantly women and children. While women can and do commit domestic violence against their male and female partners, over 95% of family and domestic ­violence incidents are perpetrated by men against their female and male partners

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(Diemer 2015). Additionally, women are less likely to use affirmative lethal force than their male counterparts, and when they do, this is often in response to prolonged violence from their male partner (ANROWS 2019). Domestic or intimate partner violence is defined as: … violence, abuse and intimidation between people who are currently or have previously been in an intimate relationship. The perpetrator uses violence to control and dominate the other person. This causes fear, physical harm and/or psychological harm. (White Ribbon Australia 2020)

In contrast, family violence expands the focus from intimate partners to the whole family, and can include child abuse, elder abuse, and intrafamilial hate crime (Asquith 2015). As noted by Asquith et al. (2019, 2020), Asquith and Fox (2016), and Asquith (2015), approximately 20% of LGBTIQ+1 people experience violence from their family when they disclose their gender and/or sexuality. This type of targeted family violence is largely unique to this community, however it can arise in cross-cultural families in the form of racist intrafamilial hate crime, and by way of ‘neglect’ or mistreatment of disabled children by the families. Targeted domestic and family violence can include behaviours such as: • • • • • •

physical assault (including assaults leading to homicide) sexual assault verbal abuse emotional abuse financial abuse technology-facilitated abuse (such as cyber stalking, or tracing a victim’s whereabouts via phone app) • social abuse (isolating someone from their friends and family, including family exile) • spiritual abuse (stopping someone from practicing their religion) Identifying behaviours that seeks to control and instil fear in women and children is important in preventing the escalation of violence (◘ Fig. 11.1). What we know of this type of targeted violence is that there is a cycle, where at key points, police intervention may assist in de-escalating and preventing further violence.

 The plus sign is added to the end of the LGBTIQ acronym to indicate that despite the ‘alphabet soup’, this acronym does not capture the variety of sex, sexuality and gender identities. 1

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Fig. 11.1  Cycle of domestic violence (adapted from MICAH Projects 2020)

BUILD-UP HONEYMOON

STANDOVER

CYCLE OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE PURSUIT

EXPLOSION REMORSE

During the build-up and standover phases (see ◘ Fig.  11.1), the abuser gets angry, there is a breakdown in communication, and victims feel like they are ‘walking on eggs shells’. Unaddressed, this behaviour can then escalate into an ‘explosion’ of violence, which is minimised or dismissed during the remorse and pursuit phases, and the abuser apologises and offers gifts and promises of better behaviour during the honeymoon phase. While the police are most often called during the explosion phase, it is during the other phases that their actions may have the most significant effect on either the de-escalation of the violence or the victim’s willingness or capacity to escape the violence.

Hate Crime Hate crime (see Fig. 11.2)—or bias- or prejudice-related violence—is a relatively new concept in policing, with hate crime provisions in law and policy only emerging in the last 30 years. Hate crime refers to: … a criminal offence motivated against persons, associates of persons, property or society that is motivated, in whole or in part, by an offender’s hate against an individual’s or group’s actual or perceived; race, religion, ethnic/national origin, sex/gender, gender identity, age, disability status, sexual orientation or homeless status. (NSW Police Force 2020)

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Fig. 11.2  Continuum of hate (adapted from Hollomotz 2013)

While ‘hate crime’ is the most common expression, in some jurisdictions, ‘hate’ is replaced with ‘prejudice-related’, given the difficulties in operationalising the concept of ‘hate’ (see, for example, Victoria Police in Australia). Of note, is the provision that the crime can be motivated ‘…in whole or in part’. This provision enables police and the criminal justice system to consider crimes that may not be committed by an organised offender who actively seeks out vulnerable people to target, and may include those who enhance an underlying crime by the deployment of hatred or prejudice. For example, a physical dispute between neighbours over noise, which descends into verbal hostility, directed at the race, religion, sexuality, gender, disability, or homelessness status of the victim, can be considered to be motivated ‘in part’ by hate. Who is included as a possible victim of hate crime is dependent on the social and political conditions of each jurisdiction, as well as the power of vulnerable groups to advocate for recognition.

While racial/ethnic minorities are recognised in all hate crimes provisions enacted around the world, the inclusion of other vulnerable people varies consider-

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ably. Some do not include sexuality and gender diverse communities, but may include disability. Other jurisdictions recognise vulnerable groups unique to the local conditions, such as the inclusion of alternative cultures (punks, goths, and emos; Manchester, UK; The Sophie Lancaster Foundation 2017). Other jurisdictions recognise police officers as being subject to hate crimes (Louisiana, Kentucky, Mississippi, and New York, USA; Walker 2018) under what is called ‘Blue Lives Matter’ laws. However, as noted by Zempi (2017) and Mason (2020), police officers are neither marginalised nor disadvantaged, and their designation as possible hate crime victims is of a different nature. In place of violence that targets a personal characteristic, hate crimes against police target their occupation. Some jurisdictions have no hate crime provisions. Others deploy a range of approaches, ranging from substantive and separate sections in criminal codes (such as those inserted into the Western Australian Criminal Code 1913, ss77–80D), penalty enhancement in sentencing (as has been adopted in many US jurisdictions), or as an aggravating factor in sentencing (which is the dominant model used in most jurisdictions outside of the US) (Mason 2014). There exist sub-criminal behaviours motivated by hate (dubbed ‘hate incidents’), such as verbal assaults and doxxing,2 which do not rise to the level of a crime. The reason for collecting and recording ‘hate incidents’ is largely due to what is considered the ‘continuum of hate’ (Hollomotz 2013): low-level hate incidents, when not addressed by criminal justice agencies, can escalate quickly into criminal behaviour. Without the recording of the previous incidents, it is much more difficult to attribute the motivation of hate to the subsequent crime. As with terrorism, hate crime creates fear and terrorises its recipients; but unlike terrorism that seeks to frighten people because anyone could become a victim, hate crimes target particular types of people, who are most commonly marginalised. Hate crimes, or prejudice-related violence, are ‘message crimes’ (Perry 2003) that seek to convey that the recipient of targeted violence is not wanted, not considered fully human, or not worthy of the right to safety. While hate crimes present as with any other crime—such as vandalism, assault, homicide—there is a much more targeted motivation for offenders. The crime, in some respects, is secondary to the hatred, and is used to enhance the harms caused. Hate crimes are distinct from the same crimes without a motivation in large part due to in terrorem effects (Perry and Alvi 2012). In minority communities, there is a smaller degree of separation between people, and as such, an attack against one is felt, more promptly and more acutely, as an attack against all members of that  Doxxing is the deliberate search for and publishing of private or identifying information about a particular individual on the Internet, typically with malicious intent. 2

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community. One hate crime can impact the individual victim’s behaviour as well as their avoidance tactics following the attack. Being targeted for violence just because of who you are has significant consequences. In addition to the harms caused to the individual victim, acts of targeted violence ‘…emit a distinct warning to all members of the victim’s community: step out of line, cross invisible boundaries, and you too could be lying on the ground, beaten and bloodied’ (Perry 2003, 94). Perry and Alvi’s (2012) research found that as with the primary victim, vicarious victims of hate crime can experience similar reactions, including shock, anger, fear/vulnerability, and inferiority. They also noted that a consequence of the ripple effect is that members of the targeted community are likely to begin normalising the violence they experience. Normalising this type of violence means that victims are less likely to report their victimisation to the police. The harm extends, then, to societal norms and values.

In Practice Domesticated Terror Policing services play a critical role in responding to and preventing family and domestic violence. Not only do these forms of targeted violence constitute a large proportion of police time and resources, police may also be ideally placed to address the offending behaviour as well as protect the safety of victims. Globally, the reported rates per 100,000 for domestic homicide vary from lows of 0.1 (UK), 0.2 (Jordan), 0.3 (France), 0.6 (Azerbaijan) to highs of 3.7 (Grenada), and 4.3 (Suriname) (UNODC 2019). Data on these types of homicides is difficult to ascertain, with some countries such as the US not collecting and analysing data comprehensively enough to provide a rate per 100,000 (UNODC 2019). It is also difficult to ascertain correctly the rate of domestic and family violence given the significant under-reporting of these crimes. It is documented that every month, approximately, 140 women are murdered by their (ex) intimate partner in the US (Fridel and Fox 2019), nine women in the UK (UK Home Office 2016), five women in Canada (Canadian Domestic Homicide Prevention Initiative 2014), and 2.5 each month in Australia (Australian Domestic and Family Violence Death Review Network 2018). According Bryant and Cussen (2015), women constitute 75% of all intimate partner homicides in Australia, and their deaths were most often the result of a stabbing or beating. While the use of weapons such as a gun only constitutes 10% of intimate partner violence in Australia, this figure is much higher in countries with

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lax firearm regulation. In the US, an average of 52 women are killed every month by firearms, and nearly 4.5 million US women have been threatened by an intimate partner with a gun (Everytown for Gun Safety 2019). These are just the reported cases; domestic violence is often not reported to the police at all. Heal (2019) suggests, based on UK data, that as few as 28% of cases are reported to the police. When up to 40% of police officers have themselves been domestic violence perpetrators (a figure thought to be an underestimation given victims would be wary of reporting their victimisation to their partner’s colleague), it is easy to see why some officers may minimise this offending in others, and not respond appropriately to victims (National Center for Women and Policing 2013). As Friedersdorf (2014) points out: ‘…while all partner abuse is unacceptable, it is especially problematic when domestic abusers are literally the people that battered and abused women are supposed to call for help’. Even when reported and officers are charged, these cases are 40% less likely to result in a prosecution (3.9% v 6.2% of the general population in the UK) (Heal 2019). Given these contexts, a robust approach to policing this form of interpersonal violence is critical. For too long, women’s experiences of violence at the hands of their current or former intimate partners was minimised and dismissed by policing services as a ‘private matter’, and victims often felt as if they were re-victimised by the criminal justice system (Larsen and Guggisberg 2009). Even when police began addressing extreme forms of domestic violence, their responses were ineffective, which led many women to avoid contacting the police. To date, in most jurisdictions around the world, the options for victims are limited and rely heavily on the victim to take action, such as taking out an Apprehended (Domestic) Violence Order (A(D)VOs). A(D)VOs are only a directive to the offender not to contact or come within the vicinity of the victim (Douglas and Fitzgerald 2013). It is only in breach of these orders that the offender may face arrest. Even then, women’s terror is underestimated and their protection against repeat victimisation is not assured. A common feature of A(D)VOs is that they often precede a homicide and, as such, they provide little safety. Strand (2012) found in her study of restraining orders in Sweden that a third of cases of intimate partner violence resulted in a restraining order, and of these, 44% of offenders went on to commit further domestic violence. Such restraining orders were ineffective in reducing repeat victimisation in cases where the offender was assessed at a high risk for recidivism. However, these types of orders can reduce the recidivism of low or medium risk offenders. In effect, it appears that those most likely to resort to extreme violence against their partner are less likely to be intimidated by an A(D)VO.

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In response to the issues of under-reporting, and failure to convict repeat offenders, criminal justice systems have adopted a variety of measures to address more appropriately the terror felt by vulnerable victims and to bring perpetrators to justice. Mandatory arrest of offenders, ‘safe at home’ provisions, and risk assessment tools have been implemented by policing services in the hope of preventing violence against women in the home. Tasmania Police work from a pro-intervention approach, derived from the Safe Homes, Safe Families strategy, which seeks to ‘… support adult and child victims to enable them to remain in or quickly return to their own home in safety wherever possible’ (Tasmanian Government 2019). In contrast to older strategies that aimed to safely remove victims from the home, the Tasmanian government reversed conventions by seeking the removal of the perpetrator from the home, and by strengthening the safety of victims within the home. The Risk Assessment Screening Tool (RAST) can be used by operational police at the attendance of family violence incidents to assist in assessing the risk of a victim experiencing future violence (Julian and Mason 2009). When combined with pro-arrest approaches such as those adopted by the New Zealand Police (Carswell 2006), risk assessment tools aim to effectively identify the risks of escalating violence and/or re-victimisation, and to mandatorily arrest the offender. Paradoxically, whilst pro-arrest policies lead to increased arrests of domestic violence perpetrators, these arrests were less likely to result in a conviction at court (Hirschel et al. 2008). However, evidence suggests that police sometimes avoid the difficult task of unravelling the immediate contexts of family violence, and where there is evidence of retaliatory violence by the victim, will arrest both parties. This approach to ‘dual arrests’ aligns with research that finds ‘gender symmetry’ in intimate partner violence, and that women are just as likely as men to offend (Chan 2011; Kimmel 2002). However, women’s violence against their male partners is often retaliatory and protective, and is commonly less violent than the harms caused by men (Allen 2010; Kimmel 2002). ‘Dual arrests’ are more likely in intimate partner and domestic violence incidents, and the likelihood of dual arrests increases significantly in jurisdictions with pro-arrest policies (Finn et al. 2004; Hirschel et al. 2008). There is an increased likelihood of dual arrests in incidents involving same sex couples, where attending police cannot rely on the simple equation of women=victims, and men=offenders.

While innovations in policing practice are important in addressing and preventing domestic and family violence, it is critical to remain aware of the barriers for some vulnerable people in accessing services. Victims who do not speak the na-

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tional language, are sexuality and gender diverse, or are disabled, face additional barriers to reporting and preventing domestic and family violence (Messinger 2011; Tesch et al. 2010; Thiara et al. 2011; Thomas 2011; Vaughan et al. 2016). Additionally, those victims living in rural and remote locations have to face the absence of crisis services, and have unique factors that may impact on their behaviour, such as the need to relocate themselves and large farm animals, such as horses (Wendt et al. 2017). It is not enough to have a single approach to policing domestic and family violence, and it is incumbent on attending officers to consider the layers of vulnerability and local contexts in responding to calls for help.

Hate Crime Understanding the motivation of a crime may not be essential for the police to do the work necessary to bring an offender to justice. However, if the possibility of a hate crime motivation exists and is not recorded, and evidence is not collected at the time of investigation, then the opportunity to qualify this as a hate crime at court is significantly reduced. To address this, some policing services (for example, NSW Police Force and London Metropolitan Police Service) are integrating compulsory questions into their crime reporting system. While this may not force some officers to take the extra steps required to collect hate crime evidence, such an approach to crime reporting can normalise the consideration of hate crime as a motivation. In the absence of a prompt in crime reporting systems, it is left, in most cases, to the attending police officers to evaluate whether an incident is a hate crime. Some jurisdictions, such as those in the UK, empower victims to have their incident recorded as a hate crime; however, this attribution is most commonly left to the police (Asquith 2013). Police training in recognising, reporting, and collecting hate crime evidence is therefore critical in responding appropriately to these types of crime. In recording a hate motivation, police are required to collect information that may not be ordinarily recorded. In particular, hate is most commonly demonstrated by the verbal or textual hostility used before, during, or after the incident. Verbal/textual hostility (‘hate speech’) comes in various forms, and is used against communities in different ways. ‘Hate speech’ can be used during the incident to enhance the harms caused and to make it clear to the victim and bystanders that the offender is motivated by hate. The offender may also declare in police interview that the victim was targeted because of a personal characteristic such as race, sexuality, or disability. When such evidence is not available for police to record, an additional evidential artefact is the prior communications used by the offender, such as social media posts.

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In her analysis of nearly 1000,000 hate crimes reported to the London Metropolitan Police Service, Asquith (2013) identified seven main forms of verbal/ textual hostility, which are commonly enhanced by profanity: • • • •

Interpellation = naming calling (e.g., “nigger”, “dyke”, “paki”, “crip”) Pathologisation = dirt and disease (e.g., “filthy faggot”, “you are corona”) Demonisation = devils, demons and mongrels (e.g., “brown rats”, “ape”) Sexualisation = sexual organs, sexual acts (e.g., “die cunt”, “Gypsy whore”, “who has the dick?”) • Criminalisation = liars, cheats and criminals (e.g., “you lying Jewish bastard”, “[Mexicans are] bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists”) • Expatriation = exile from space, neighbourhood, nation (e.g., “fuck off, go home”, “go back to where you came from”) • Terrorisation = threats of violence and death (e.g., “I hope you get SARS”) Understanding and recording, preferably verbatim, victims and bystanders’ memory of what has been said is critical in adjudicating whether an incident is a hate crime. As Asquith (2013) notes, verbal/textual hostility is linked to the type of crime committed by offenders, such that the speech used can be an indicator of which vulnerability is targeted, and what happens within the incident, or in repeated victimisation. For example, if the verbal/textual hostility includes sexualisation, there is likelihood that the subsequent crime will involve a sexual assault. In practice, policing services have begun to implement bespoke support for vulnerable victims of hate crime and their communities. One such innovation is the Hate Crime Scrutiny Panels created by UK policing and prosecution services (Adamson and Cole 2007; Asquith 2012; Crown Prosecution Service 2007). Scrutiny panels consist of key stakeholders from victimised communities along with relevant police and criminal justice practitioners. Using a dip sample of cases recorded in the preceding month, the panel autopsies the investigation to evaluate whether the case was managed appropriately and respectfully, and whether additional support or training is required for officers in managing hate crimes. This approach seeks to identify best practice, and assists the police in building partnerships with victimised communities and vulnerable groups (Asquith 2012). As with domestic violence, the capacity to police hate crimes is largely dependent on whether the victim trusts the police to respond appropriately. Building collaborative relationships between the police and targeted communities ensures that hate crimes are reported to the police, and that the police response is respectful of vulnerabilities.

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Case Scenario

Disablist Hate Crime In 2007, Fiona Pilkington drove herself and her 18-year-old disabled daughter, Francecca (known as Frankie) to a deserted laneway in the UK town of Barwell in Leicestershire, and set the car on fire. The resulting blaze killed both women. On face value, this may be perceived as a murder/suicide (Walker 2011), such as that which occurred in Australia, in early 2020, when Hannah Clarke and her three young children were killed by her estranged husband in a case of extreme family violence involving a car fire (Harazim 2020). However, the deaths of Fiona and Frankie were not related to family violence; instead, it was a desperate act by a traumatised mother, who felt that there was no other option than to kill herself and her daughter, after a decade-long campaign of disablist hate crime by her neighbours. Fiona, Frankie, and Anthony Pilkington had experienced an ongoing campaign of hate from two generations of their neighbours. They experienced sustained ‘anti-social behaviour’, including financial paperwork being stolen, fires lit on their property, people urinating on their fence, and objects thrown at their house (such as eggs and rocks). Additionally, Fiona’s son, who also had learning difficulties, was held at knife point in a garden shed, whilst the perpetrators attempted to force Frankie to undress. Too often, these incidents were minimised by the police and local authorities, or dismissed as bullying meted out by ‘boys behaving badly’. Fiona had reported the targeted violence to police on 33 separate occasions, none of which were linked or prioritised (Dryden 2017). The Independent Police Complaints Commission undertook a review of this case in 2011, and found that four officers (an ­inspector, a sergeant, and two constables) had a case to answer for their misconduct. The IPCC found that: –– police officers had systems in place which, had they been used properly, could have shown the true level of harassment the family were subjected to over a number of years; –– incidents were too often dealt with by police officers in isolation and with an unstructured approach; –– Bardon Road, where the family lived, was not considered by the force to be an anti-social behaviour ‘hotspot’, and was therefore not targeted for a more proactive response; –– police officers should have picked up on Fiona’s repeated assertion the situation was ‘on-going’ and that it was her family in particular being targeted;

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–– officers did not identify a difference in the level of seriousness between general anti-social behaviour and specific harassment of the Pilkington family, and they failed to consider their treatment as hate crime (True Vision 2020)

The IPCC made a number of recommendations to Leicestershire Police relating to information sharing between officers and the handling of vulnerable people, including changes to the way in which they monitor anti-social behaviour, respond to the needs of vulnerable people, and record and respond to targeted violence. ◄

A View from the Frontline … hate crime policing is not a politically correct flash in the pan, it is done because it is the right thing to do and is part of any ethical policing response. (Inspector Gary Shapiro (Retired), Nassau County Police Department)

In a world where trust in governments is at an all-time low, the pillars of society (safety and security) are being eroded, and extremism is on the rise, hate crime policing is becoming a crucial tool in responding to these threats and protecting communities. As a colleague (Senior Constable Leach) aptly points out ­‘[w] ithout the support of the community, democratic police forces have no power’. It is imperative that we have the support of community for us to do our job. Hate crime policing is a key to unlock the support of vulnerable communities; by responding to their fears and anxieties, we can build the trust and confidence that is required to police an ever-increasing fractured society. In addition, by responding to the community we, as police, develop an understanding of these vulnerable communities, which allows us to engage in true community policing. Hate crime, is a relatively new operational policing concept in Australia. Current policing approaches see hate crimes as a crime only and fail to see them for what they truly are; a message to a vulnerable targeted community that they are not welcome or have stepped outside the unwritten societal hierarchy. In the age of global terrorism, hate crimes are more relevant than ever. Hate crime drives terrorism and terrorism drives hate crime. With each hate crime, the fertile ground for extremism grows and conversely with each act of terror, the fertile ground for hate crime also grows, creating a feedback loop and a never-ending cycle of violence and retaliation. (continued)

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(continued) Fear and anxiety are powerful human motivators; as society changes, the safety and security known by previous generations is disappearing. As it disappears the anxiety of ‘the other’ and the desire to preserve what is ‘ours’ will see hate crimes rise and consequently, extremism and terrorism. In the wise words of Yoda, ‘Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.’ Police by our very mandate are protectors; the ‘sheep dogs’ that protect ‘the flock’. If as protectors we fail to see, let alone respond to the needs of vulnerable communities we have sworn to protect then have we failed not only those we swore to protect but will fail to protect the democratic ideals of our society. Through an effective hate crime response, police can build community trust and relationships that are required to police society. The simple act of acknowledging that a vulnerable community has been targeted because who they are, or are perceived to be, can be enough to bring that community closer to mainstream society. Hate crimes drive isolation, targeted communities withdraw, and isolation is the doorway to extremism. By actively showing that the law protects all and that those who violate it will be dealt with equally, police can dismantle a key extremism message, ‘they hate us, they attack us, we must protect ourselves’. Through policing hate crimes effectively, democratic police forces can not only build community trust and confidence, but also diminish the effectiveness of a key extremist recruitment strategy. Sergeant Geoff Steer NSW Police Force

Conclusion Targeted violence, such as intimate partner and family violence, and hate crimes, highlight the layered impact of vulnerability in victimisation. Along with the individual vulnerabilities that may intersect in practice, victims also face policing practices that may further vulnerabilise them. Failure to address the needs of victims experiencing targeted violence will ripple across the targeted population, and may impact on the willingness of targeted communities to report crime. Failure to act appropriately can lead to the exacerbation of harm and repeat victimisation, leading in some cases to the death of the victim. These are high-stake policing prac-

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tices, impacting far more vulnerable people than traditional in terrorem crimes such as terrorism. While governments allocate significant resources to the policing acts of terrorism, the same does not happen for targeted violence. Domestic violence and hate crime units within police services are conventionally under-­ resourced, and frontline officers are rarely fully prepared for attending these types of incidents.

Activities 1. What are the unique challenges faced by police in responding to family and domestic violence? What factors may create barriers for women wanting to report intimate partner violence? 2. Identify the types of violence against women you might logically encounter, as police, in your communities. For these types of violence, currently, what are the common police responses? What are the police attitudes about responding to these forms of violence and the women who are involved? 3. What are the unique challenges faced by police in responding to hate crimes? 4. Investigate what, if any, provisions are made in your jurisdiction to respond to hate crimes, including any laws, policies, and practices? What gaps can you identify in the approach taken in your jurisdiction?

Readings and Resources Barwon Multidisciplinary Centre. (2020). The Barwon Multidisciplinary Centre. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://www.safvcentre.org.au/the-­barwon-­multidisciplinary-­ centre-­mdc/#. Crown Prosecution Service (UK). (2007). A guide to setting up hate crime scrutiny panels. London: CPS. Julian, R,. & Mason, R. (2009). Analysis of the Tasmania police risk assessment screening tool (RAST): Final report. Hobart: Tasmanian Institute of Law Enforcement Studies.

Bibliography Adamson, S., & Cole, B. (2007). Evaluation of the West Yorkshire police community scrutiny panels. Hull: University of Hull. Allen, M. (2010). Is there gender symmetry in intimate partner violence? Child and Family Social Work, 16(3), 245–254.

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ASIO Act 1979 (Cth). Asquith, N. L. (2004). In terrorem: ‘With their tanks and their bombs, and their bombs and their guns, in your head’. Journal of Sociology, 40(4), 400–416. Asquith, N.  L. (2012). Vulnerability and the art of complaint making. In I.  Bartkowiak-­ Théron & N. L. Asquith (Eds.), Policing vulnerability (pp. 147–162). Annandale, NSW: Federation Press. Asquith, N. L. (2013). The role of verbal–textual hostility in hate crime regulation: Final report. London: London Metropolitan Police Service. Asquith, N.  L. (2015). Honour, violence & heteronormativity. International Journal of Crime, Justice and Social Democracy, 4(3), 73–84. Asquith, N. L., & Fox, C. A. (2016). No place like home: Honour, heteronormativity and hate crimes. In A. Dwyer, M. Ball, & T. Crofts (Eds.), Queering criminology (pp. 163– 182). London: Palgrave. Asquith, N.L., Collison, A., Lewis, L., Noonan, K., Layard, E., Kaur, G., Bellei, F., & Yigiter, E. (2019). Home is where our story begins: CALD LGBTIQ+ people’s relationships to family. Current Issues in Criminal Justice, 31(3), 311–332. Asquith, N. L., Collison, A., Noonan, K., Layard, E., & Kaur, G. (2020). Home is where our story begins: Family, community, and belonging for sexuality & gender diverse CALD people. Sydney: NSW LGBTIQ Domestic & Family Violence Interagency, ACON, Western Sydney University. Australia’s National Research Organisation for Women’s Safety (ANROWS). (2019). Domestic and family violence lethality: The facts about intimate partner homicide. Sydney, NSW: ANROWS. Australian Bureau of Statistics. (2018). 4510.0—Recorded crime—Victims, Australia. Canberra: ABS. Australian Domestic and Family Violence Death Review Network. (2018). Data Report. Sydney: Domestic Violence Death Review Team. Bryant, W., & Cussen, T. (2015). Homicide in Australia: 2010–11 to 2011–12: National Homicide Monitoring Program Report. Canberra: Australian Institute of Criminology. Canadian Domestic Homicide Prevention Initiative. (2014). Domestic homicide in Canada. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from http://cdhpi.ca/sites/cdhpi.ca/files/Fact_Sheet_1_ DH-­in-­Canada.pdf. Carswell, S. (2006). Family violence and the pro-arrest policy: A literature review. Auckland: NZ Ministry of Justice. Chan, K. L. (2011). Gender differences in self-reports of intimate partner violence: A review. Aggression and Violent Behavior, 16(2), 167–175. Criminal Code. (1913). (Western Australia) (Australia). Crown Prosecution Service (UK). (2007). A guide to setting up hate crime scrutiny panels. London: CPS. Diemer, K. (2015). ABS Personal Safety Survey: Additional analysis on relationship and sex of perpetrator. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https://violenceagainstwomenandchildren.files.wordpress.com/2015/07/abs-­personal-­safety-­survey-­victim-­perpetrator-­sex-­ and-­relationship6.pdf. Douglas, H., & Fitzgerald, R. (2013). Legal processes and gendered violence: Cross-­ applications for domestic violence protection orders. UNSW Law Journal, 36(1), 56–87.

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Dryden, F. (2017, October 24). Fiona Pilkington 10 years on—How the tragedy unfolded. Leicester Mercury. Everytown for Gun Safety. (2019). Guns and violence against women: America’s uniquely lethal intimate partner violence problem. New York: Everytown for Gun Safety. Finn, M. A., Blackwell, B. S., Stalans, L. J., Studdard, S., & Dugan, L. (2004). Dual arrest decisions in domestic violence cases: The influence of departmental policies. Crime & Delinquency, 50(4), 565–589. Fridel, E. E., & Fox, J. A. (2019). Gender differences in patterns and trends in U.S. homicide, 1976–2017. Violence and Gender, 6(1), 27–36. Friedersdorf, C. (2014, August 22). A Deadly Epidemic of Violence Against Women. The Atlantic. Harazim, K. (2020, February 20). Brisbane car fire killings of Hannah Clarke and her three children leave Australia reeling amid calls for action on family violence. ABC News. Heal, A. (2019). Nowhere to turn: Domestic abuse by police officers goes unpunished. Retrieved June 12, 2020, from https://www.thebureauinvestigates.com/stories/2019-­ 05-­01/police-­perpetrators-­domestic-­violence. Hirschel, D., Buzawa, E., Pattavina, A., & Faggiani, D. (2008). Domestic violence and mandatory arrest laws: To what extent do they influence police arrest decisions? The Journal of Criminal Law and Criminology, 98(1), 255–298. Hollomotz, A. (2013). Disability and the continuum of violence. In A.  Roulstone & H.  Mason-­Bish (Eds.), Disability, hate crime and violence (pp.  52–63). London & New York: Routledge. Iganski, P. (2001). Hate crimes hurt more. American Behavioral Scientist, 45(4), 627–638. Julian, R., & Mason, R. (2009). Analysis of the Tasmania police risk assessment screening tool (RAST): Final report. Hobart: Tasmanian Institute of Law Enforcement Studies. Kimmel, M. S. (2002). ‘Gender symmetry’ in domestic violence: A substantive and methodological research review. Violence Against Women, 8(11), 1332–1363. Larsen, A.-C., & Guggisberg, M. (2009). Police officers, women and intimate partner violence: Giving primacy to social context. Australian Journal of Gender and Law, 1, 1–18. Mason, G. (2014). Legislating against hate. In N. Hall, A. Corb, P. Giannasi, & J. Grieve (Eds.), Routledge international handbook on hate crime (pp. 59–68). London: Routledge. Mason, G. (2020). Blue lives matter and hate crime law. Race and Justice. https://doi. org/10.1177/2153368720933665. Messinger, A. M. (2011). Invisible victims: Same-sex IPV in the National Violence against Women Survey. Journal of Interpersonal Violence, 26(11), 2228–2243. Micah Projects. (2020). Cycle of violence. Retrieved February 25, 2020, from https:// micahprojects.org.au/. Mornington, M. (2001). Domestic violence—Domestic terrorism. In J. Pritchard (Ed.), Good practice with vulnerable adults (pp. 185–203). London & New York: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Mouzos, J. & Makkai, T. (2004). Women’s experiences of male violence: Findings from the Australian component of the International Violence Against Women Survey (IVAWS). AIC Research and Policy Series, 56. Canberra: AIC. National Center for Women and Policing. (2013). Police family violence fact sheet. Retrieved June 14, 2020, from http://womenandpolicing.com/violenceFS.asp#notes.

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Noelle, M. (2002). The ripple effect of the Matthew Shepard murder: Impact on the assumptive worlds of members of the targeted group. American Behavioral Scientist, 46(1), 27–50. NSW Attorney General’s Department—Crime Prevention Division. (2003). ‘You shouldn’t have to hide to be safe’: A report on homophobic hostilities and violence against gay men and lesbians in New South Wales. Sydney, Network of Government Agencies: Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual & Transgender Issues. NSW Police Force. (2020). Hate crimes. Retrieved February 20, 2020, from https://www. police.nsw.gov.au/crime/hate_crimes. Perry, B. (2003). Introduction: Causes and consequences. In B. Perry (Ed.), Hate and Bias crime: A reader (pp. 93–96). London & New York: Routledge. Perry, B., & Alvi, S. (2012). ‘We are all vulnerable’: The in terrorem effects of hate crimes. International Review of Victimology, 18(1), 57–71. Strand, S. (2012). Using a restraining order as a protective risk management strategy to prevent intimate partner violence. Police Practice and Research, 13(3), 254–266. Tasmanian Government. (2019). Safe homes, families, communities: Tasmania’s action plan for family and sexual violence 2019–2022. Hobart: Tasmanian Government. Tesch, B., Bekerian, D., English, P., & Harrington, E. (2010). Same-sex domestic violence: Why victims are more at risk. International Journal of Police Science & Management, 12(4), 526–535. The Sophie Lancaster Foundation. (2017). Hate crime. Retrieved February 20, 2020, from https://www.sophielancasterfoundation.com/index.php/hate-­crimes. Thiara, R.  K., Hague, G., & Mullender, A. (2011). Losing out on both counts: Disabled women and domestic violence. Disability & Society, 26(6), 757–771. Thomas, P. (2011). ‘Mate crime’: Ridicule, hostility and targeted attacks against disabled people. Disability & Society, 26(1), 107–111. True Vision. (2020). IPCC publishes Fiona Pilkington investigation report. Retrieved February 20, 2020, from https://www.report-­it.org.uk/ipcc_publishes_fiona_pilkington_investigation_r. UK Home Office. (2016). Domestic homicide reviews: Key findings from analysis of domestic homicide reviews. London: Home Office. United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC). (2019). Global study on homicide: Gender-related killing of women and girls. Geneva: United Nations. Vaughan, C., Davis, E., Murdolo, A., Chen, J., Murrary, L., Block, K., Quiazon, R., & Warr, D. (2016). Promoting community-led responses to violence against immigrant and refugee women in metropolitan and regional Australia: The ASPIRE Project: Key findings and future directions. Compass: Research to Policy and Practice, 8. Walker, P. (2011, May 24). Fiona Pilkington case: Police face misconduct proceedings. The Guardian. Walker, S. (2018). Policing hate: The problematic expansion of Louisiana’s hate crime statute to include police officers. Louisiana Law Review, 78(4), 1413–1445. Wendt, S., Chung, D., Elder, A., Hendrick, A., & Hartwig, A. (2017). Seeking help for domestic violence: Exploring rural women’s coping experiences—Key findings and future directions. Compass: research to Policy and Practice, 6.

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White Ribbon Australia. (2020). Domestic violence definition. Retrieved February 20, 2020, from https://www.whiteribbon.org.au/understand-­domestic-­violence/what-­is-­domestic-­ violence/domestic-­violence-­definition/. Zempi, I. (2017). Calling for a debate on recording violence against police officers as a hate crime. International Network for Hate Studies Blog. Retrieved February 20, 2020, from https://internationalhatestudies.com/calling-­for-­a-­debate-­on-­recording-­violence-­against-­ police-­officers-­as-­a-­hate-­crime/.

Public Order Policing

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Introduction Public order policing sits at the intersection between crime fighting and order maintenance (Waddington 1994). Much criticism about public order policing has been directed at police tactics that aim to strengthen order maintenance, in part, because in most instances the police tactics are used against people not engaged in criminal acts. The right to protest is enshrined in many jurisdictions, and while the police have an important role in ensuring that peaceful protests do not spin out into public criminality (such as vandalism, and assaults against counter-protestors), at times, police have expanded their role and/or targeted particular types of people for extra ‘service’. Recent protests against police brutality and police-involved deaths—along with the policing of COVID-19—has clearly illustrated the biased nature of public order policing, including the inappropriate use of weapons, and the immediately and long-term consequences of these types of police response (Noor 2020a [9 June]). The role of police in public order was present at the inception of modern policing, with Peel seeking to avert the horrendous violence meted out to Chartists during the Peterloo massacre in August 1819, through the creation of a professional service not aligned to the military. Since this time, the police have been on the

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_12

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frontline in public order strategies, often with unintended consequences. They are in a difficult situation of managing the directives from the state to quell uprisings, manage the harms of violence, and serve the people. Importantly, it is their work in order maintenance that causes some of the deepest divisions between the police and the people they serve, leading in recent months to calls for the abolition of police and defunding of policing services (Vitale 2020). Most research and practical guidelines on public order policing have little to say about vulnerable people.

While many protests and demonstrations are conducted on behalf of vulnerable people (e.g., 2011 austerity demonstrations in the UK, 1960s civil rights protests in the US, land rights protests in Australia since the 1940s), and/or vulnerable people are participants in protests (e.g., 1990 ‘Capitol Crawl’ in the US), they are largely absent from any discussion of public order policing. The tactics and weaponry used by police during public order events assume the invulnerability of participants, and make few provisions for vulnerable people.

Concepts Public order policing is controversial. It refers to the strategies and tactics used to prevent violence and disorder, and the crime fighting strategies deployed by policing services to manage non-criminal behaviour, such as public protests, demonstrations, and events. The active, highly visible presence of police forces at any public event is intended to act as a deterrent to the escalation of violence. The activation of public order policing in response to a noted altercation or to an incident that sparks public anxiety, frustration, and anger, is intended to be swift, high impact, and immediately noticeable by the rest of the crowd. However, history has shown that the activation of police itself has often been the spark that escalates the protests, and that the intended ‘swiftness’ devolves into day-long riots and social unrest (for example, the 2020 Minneapolis protests and riots in response to George Floyd’s death). Public order policing is controversial not only because of the tactics used, but also because of the pre-existing estranged relationships between police and some of the communities who engage in protests, and the difficult positioning of police between the public and their elected representatives. When the police are pitched on the opposite side to calls for reform—including reform of criminal justice— they can easily be framed as ‘lackeys’ or ‘bootlickers’ for, at times, authoritarian

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governments (Bolgiano et al. 2017). Reicher et al. (2007, 403) suggest that another reason public order policing is so controversial is because while most police work involves some form of order maintenance, large crowds, such as protests, are perceived as being an ‘inherent threat to order’. When the source of ‘disorder’ is sited wholly in the characteristics of protestors, and not in the complex interplay between protestors, police, and the environment, the only innovation needed is better and more effective ways to control crowds (Reicher et al. 2007). When police frame protestors and demonstrators as inherently violent, and treat them as such, the crowd’s response is likely to meet those expectations.

However, ‘[i]f the police can interact with crowd members in ways that lead to a deteriorating relationship and increase conflict, they can equally interact in other ways that lead to improving relationships and reduce conflict’ (Reicher et al. 2007, 404). This approach requires not only robust communication strategies and public order training for police, it also requires policing services to reframe public order events as valid, largely ordered, and for the most part, peaceful (Waddington and King 2005). Developing and implementing public order strategies for only few violent protestors damages the existing, and possible, productive relationships that police have with the communities they serve. Indiscriminate strategies assume that protestors will be violent, and as such, can have long lasting impacts on individual and community relationships with police, and increase the likelihood of harm and violence experienced by vulnerable people at the site of the protest. One key tactic used in public order policing that has created exactly these conditions is kettling. Kettling is a metaphor used to denote the ways in which ‘heat and steam’ of a protest is contained in a kettle. It emerged in the 1980s as an informal, unorganised approach to policing the 1984/5 Miners’ Strikes in the UK, which was later developed into a standard operating procedure for most policing services around the world (Joyce and Wain 2014). Containment strategies such as kettling or corralling aim to control large crowds by limiting their access to protest sites, or to cordon off parts of the crowd from the main protest. Kettling can be used before a protest action to divert protestors before they can get to the site of the protest, during the protest to control the direction of the crowd, or after the event to siphon the crowd slowly to exit them in a particular direction (Neal et al. 2019). The impact on the situational vulnerability of attendees cannot be understated. As kettling requires large numbers of police officers to hold a containment line, and are often apparelled with defensive weaponry such as shields to further contain or move the kettled protestors (Joyce and Wain 2014), the potential high impact of such tactics needs noting. Kettling can also be used to separate individual violent

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offenders or protest leaders; however, as Fairclough (2011) points out in relation to the use of kettling by UK police services, ‘…it will be very rare that a violent group is sufficiently isolated to enable their lawful detention (for the purposes of arrest) without the collateral detention of many peaceful protesters, or indeed passersby’. In detaining innocent bystanders or peaceful protestors along with their violent peers, the situational vulnerability of some protestors can be exacerbated. Under normal circumstances, if protestors feel unsafe, they can simply leave. But when kettled, they are under the control of police officers, who treat them as they do the violent offenders they seek to arrest. Without the chance to leave the protest, the rights of kettled participants are impinged, including the right to eat, rest, and use the toilet, all of which have been identified as serious issues when deploying kettling tactics (HMIC 2009, 2010), and are iatrogenic factors that may impact on vulnerable people more intensely. A final concept to consider in public order policing is the para-militarisation of police (de Lint and Hall 2009; Goldsworthy 2014; Kraska 2007; Sutton 2017). Across the world, policing organisation have created bespoke units tasked with responding to public disorder—whether protests, disasters, or emergencies. These units are commonly called SWATs (Special Weapons and Tactics), or something similar, such as the Public Order Riot Squad in New South Wales, Çevik Kuvvet (Agile Force) in Turkey, Bereitschaftspolizei (BePo; Riot Police) in Germany, or the Otryad Mobilniy Osobogo Naznacheniya (OMON; Special Purpose Mobile Unit) in Russia (Joyce and Wain 2014). These units are staffed by officers with additional training in crowd control, and are much more highly apparelled. As these units are required only in the exceptional circumstances of public disorder, SWAT members are deployed most of their time in normal policing duties. Joyce and Wain (2014, 298) argue that ‘[a] key difficulty with this situation is that it influences the manner in which the police deliver their routine law and order roles, thus threatening police–public relationships’. In the US, local policing services have been able to access ex-military weaponry and equipment for use in public order policing, which has created the conditions that gave rise to modern policing in the first place; that is, the use of military equipment and tactics not against an enemy force but against the public they are meant to serve. This has the effect of immediately and automatically placing attendees in a situation of heightened risk, where the vulnerability of participants (including, the potential for actual, and sometimes, lethal injury) is increased by virtue of the weaponry used to defend the public. It is important to note that this commitment to apparelling the police is not universal. In June 2020, the New Zealand government decided against the use of an armed response teams as a public order response (New Zealand Police 2020).

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Historical Development The Peterloo massacre in 1819 is a landmark public order policing event, which was instrumental in shepherding in the era of ‘new’ policing. In response to valid protests about disenfranchisement, food shortages, and targeted violence, the Manchester and Salford Yeomanry, along with the 15th Hussars were directed by local magistrates to disperse the protesting crowds and arrest the leaders of the Chartist movement. Wielding sabres, the mounted 15th Hussars charged the crowd, resulting in up to 15 deaths, and 700 injuries (Poole 2006). The immediate effect of this policing response to public disorder was the further disenfranchisement of England’s poor communities, the criminalisation of protests, and the application of new and amended laws against reporting of disorder (Poole 2006). Ten years after Peterloo, Peel proposed the creation of a new policing force that was distinct from the military. Rather than treating their people as an opposing enemy through the deployment of the military, Peel sought to create a mechanism to enable ‘policing by consent’ (Gaunt 2014). Since this time, the police have been deployed in a variety of public order contexts, with a peak in police actions during the 1960s civil right era, and more recently, in relation to environmental, human rights, white supremacist, and more recently, COVID-19 and Black Lives Matter (BLM), protests. It was during the 1960s—and the recent BLM protests—that the bias in public order policing was most obvious, with some US police organisations actively harming African Americans and their supporters. Footage of police actions during the 1960s protests continues to haunt police organisations, which has led to strategies to not only control public disorder, but also the media representations of that public disorder.

In Practice For much of the history of modern policing, public order strategies have been under the spotlight. Media accounts of public order events have shaped not only the public’s perceptions of the protestors and the police, but also the attendant consequences for both protestors and the police. Citizen journalists, along with accredited journalists, have been instrumental in shining a light on practices that are not often publicised (Ellis 2019, 2020; Greer and McLaughlin 2010, 2012). When things go wrong—as they did in the G20 protests in the UK (HMIC 2009)—these media accounts, and the video and images accompanying them, can fundamentally alter the strategies used by police. Getting the right mix between order m ­ aintenance

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and the right to protest is a difficult task (Fenwick 2009), especially when a minority of protestors engage in criminal behaviour that impacts on nature of the protest. The policing of protests and demonstrations is complex, with many moving parts and a need for police to be agile in a context of quickly changing circumstances.

As with other policing strategies, public order policing highlights the difficulties faced by police in managing the vulnerability of people they encounter. As will be seen in the case scenario below, police actions at protests can create vulnerability and exacerbate pre-existing vulnerability. To date, however, public order strategies are largely silent on the issue of vulnerability, and where police organisations do address some vulnerability, it continues to be framed as exceptional rather than ubiquitous.

Kettling and Vulnerability As noted above, kettling is a common tactic deployed by police to manage possible violence and criminal damage emanating from demonstrations or protests. This tactic was deployed in the 1980s in Germany against anti-nuclear protestors (Street Medicine 2020), and in the UK in the 1984 Battle of Orgreave (Gilmore 2019). However, the term ‘kettling’ was not popularised until the 1990s, when the tactic became standard operating procedure by UK policing services, and was replicated by policing services around the world in the subsequent decades. Most notably for our consideration of public order policing and vulnerability, it was during a series of disability rights protests in the early 1990s that police officially deployed kettling for the first time (Rose 2015). The official initiation of kettling against disabled people may be due to ableism: either the police thought disabled people would be easier to cordon or they were thought to be less likely to push back against kettling techniques (Kim 2014; Kitchin 1998). But this was not to be the case. Disabled activists chained themselves and their wheelchairs to buses and buildings, which hampered the ability of the police to corral the protestors. The protestors’ actions highlighted the inadequate preparation by police for vulnerable protestors. Barbara Lisicki, a protestor and head of the Direct Action Network, mused on the fact that after arresting disabled protestors, the police ‘…had to de-arrest us again because they didn’t have any accessible vehicles to get us down to the cells…’ (cited in Rose 2015). Similar inadequate provisions for disabled protestors were found during the 1990 US ‘Capitol Crawl’ demonstrations (see ◘ Fig.  12.1), when disabled protestors abandoned their

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­ obility aids to crawl the 83 steps up to Congress. In both cases, the protests rem sulted in the enactment of anti-discrimination measures for disabled people in the US and UK. These demonstrations illustrate the limitations of conventional public order policing tactics for vulnerable people. They also illustrate that while

Fig. 12.1   Capitol Crawl 1990 (© Tom Olin. Used by permission from the Tom Olin Collection)

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d­ emonstrations may be problematic for police services, the right to protest must be protected given that some protests aim to address discrimination and disadvantage. Despite the early lessons about kettling and vulnerable people, this tactic continued to be used without consideration of vulnerability until the 2009 UK G20 protests. After the death of Ian Tomlinson at the UK G20 protests in 2009 (see Case Scenario below for more details), the review by Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary (2009) recommended that some provision is made for the identification and removal of vulnerable people contained in kettles. Yet, apart from this recommendation for practice change, vulnerable people are not considered as possible protest participants, nor are their needs accounted for in public order strategies, despite the landmark use of this tactic against disabled people in 1995. The National Policing Improvement Agency’s (2010, 110) Manual of Guidance on Keeping the Peace states: When implementing and maintaining a containment tactic, the police should, where possible, differentiate between non-violent person (eg, peaceful protestors, innocent bystanders, vulnerable person, media) and violent protestors

This framing of tactics assumes that vulnerable people are not violent, and if they are, they do not merit accommodations for their vulnerability. It also assumes that police on the frontline of protests are able to identify vulnerable people and respond accordingly. This was not the case in the student fees protests in the UK in 2010, when the London Metropolitan Police Service used kettling to contain visibly vulnerable people, such as young children in school uniforms (Lewis 2011). Davis (2019) argues ‘…that it [kettling] is indiscriminate and denies people food, water, and access to toilets for hours is problematic enough, kettling also provides more opportunities for bad actors amongst the police to abuse others and get away with it’. Without clear guidance on how to manage vulnerability when it arises in public order policing, policing services leave themselves open to criticism, and possibly sanction.

Managing Public Protests Policing services have continued to use the types of strategies that strengthen ingroup hostility against outgroups (including the police), and as such, have contributed to the conflict between police and protestors. There have been some innovations in practices, including ‘liaison policing’ (Gorringe and Rosie 2013), ‘dialogue policing’ (Gilmore et al. 2019), ‘integrative’ (de Lint 2005) and the ‘permissive

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approach’ to crowd control (Waddington 2011). Gilmore et al. (2019) suggest that these new approaches to public order policing have been devised in response to the failure of tradition methods—especially in light of the death of Ian Tomlinson at the G20 protest in 2009. Further, that ‘…dialogue policing has emerged as a progressive alternative to the coercive and undemocratic policing practices of the past’ (Gilmore et al. 2019, 48). This ‘dialogue’ or ‘liaison’ with community members, and particularly vulnerable people, is a promising approach to public order policing, and is outlined in the NPIA’s (2010), Manual Guidance on Keeping the Peace. In his preface to this Manual, Chief Constable Meredydd Hughes states that ‘[o]fficers remain accountable to the law, and public order policing must be able to adapt dynamically to changing time yet remain constant in the implementation of command and tactics’ (cited in NPIA 2010, 7). The Manual outlines the principles, practices, and tactics required in modern public order policing, including the need to deploy Gold, Silver, and Bronze Commanders at various levels of the event. As noted in the review of UK policing after the G20 protests, there was a dissonance between the directives from senior management in control rooms and officers on the frontline of the protest (HMIC 2009). The system of Gold, Silver, and Bronze commanders aims to ensure that a clear line of communication is open between the control room and the frontline, so as to ensure that senior officers are cognisant of the context on the ground. It is important to note that while comprehensive, the Manual (NPIA 2010) provides limited guidance on working with vulnerable people. However, it does address police officer vulnerability in detail. In particular, the Silver Commander is required to consider the impact of containment strategies on vulnerable or distressed persons, and the Bronze Commander needs to consider vulnerable people whilst devising the operational parameters of the event. What is to be considered and implemented in relation to vulnerability is not articulated in the Manual, which leaves these matters to the discretion of the commanders. In the tactical plans provided in the Manual, commanders are especially responsible for vulnerable people whilst entering buildings and using shield tactics, and when using containment strategies, commanders are required to negotiate with protest spokespeople to identify vulnerable people (NPIA 2010, 110). Despite these provisions for ‘dialogue policing’, as Gilmore (2019) and Gilmore et al. (2019) have noted, the continued framing of protestors as inherently (or even potentially) violent and protests as disorderly (Waddington and King 2005) has resulted in mixed messaging. While police now commonly engage in dialogue with protestors to negotiate the boundaries of the demonstration and the limits of protestors’ actions, Gilmore et al. (2019) suggest that both dialogue policing and coercive

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policing are ‘mutually reinforcing strategies’, given that both are aimed at dismantling the protest. A participant in Gilmore et al.’s (2019, 48) research pointed out, from one minute to the next police shifted from statements about the permissibility of the protest (and the protestors’ human right to protest) and the impermissibility of action: ‘… this was the paradox. You were allowed to protest, they would facilitate it, but if you do they would arrest you’. When protestors do not comply with the requirements of dialogue policing— such as the appointment of a spokesperson willing to negotiate with the police— the police have the discretion to escalate public order policing techniques (Gilmore et al. 2019). As has been seen in a variety of anti-globalisation events in the last 20  years, often these protests are attended by disparate groups (with their own spokespeople), who will have different ingroup and outgroup relationships between themselves and with the police. Identifying a representative spokesperson in these circumstances is near impossible, especially when protests include people unwilling to engage with the police at all, or have decentralised decision making structures. In these circumstances, it is easier for the police to respond with traditional policing practices, including kettling, than to negotiate over the terms and conditions of who is to negotiate about the protest. As noted by Reicher et al. (2007), while overarching guidelines are critical in the framing of police responses to public order events, knowing and understanding the unique characteristics of protesters at each event is critical in managing the ingroup/outgroup dynamics of crowd psychology. In particular, they suggest that ‘… the way one treats crowds must be based on knowledge of the specific social identities of the groups involved and hence of their aims, their understandings and their notions of legitimacy’ (Reicher et al. 2007, 414; emphasis in original). Without this granular understanding of the specific contexts of each public order event, any police tactic—whether mandated or advised—may create the conditions for iatrogenic harm to vulnerable people, and ongoing damage to the relationships and trusts between police and the communities they serve. Case Scenario

G20 Protests and the Death of Ian Tomlinson One of the most impactful events to shape public order policing in the UK was the case of Ian Tomlinson. On the evening of 1 April 2009, Ian Tomlinson was walking home after his shift as a vendor for the Evening Standard. His normal route home was blocked at several points by police cordons and kettles, and he

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had several encounters with police officers in his attempt to cross the police lines. On this day, there were six protests within the London city area, with crowds of over 4000 people at both the Bank of England, and the Climate Camp at Bishopsgate. Over 5500 police officers were deployed to control the crowds, with most working a 14-hour shift without food or breaks. Police had kettled the Bishopsgate protestors from 12:30  pm to 7:00  pm, after which senior officers approved the use of ‘reasonable force’ to disperse the crowd. In response, the crowd surged towards the police line, and the police, using shields, pushed the crowd back. Ian Tomlinson just happened to reach this cordon at this time. Tomlinson had already encountered the police on several occasions on that evening in his attempt to get home and, perhaps out of frustration, he refused a police directive to move on. The police used a car to nudge him out of the way, and when that didn’t work, four police officers pushed him out of the way. He circled back in a further attempt to cross the police line, and arrived at the Royal Exchange Passage just after the London Metropolitan Police Service’s Tactical Response Group and City of London dog handlers had clashed with protestors. Mr. Tomlinson was bitten on the leg by one of the police dogs, but he continued to walk around the edges of the cordon attempting to cross. Whilst standing at a bike rack, with his hands in his pockets, Tomlinson was approached by Constable Simon Harwood, who raised his baton above his head and hit him across the legs. He was then pushed by Constable Harwood, and fell hitting his head on the ground. Ian was helped to his feet by protestors when no police officer intervened to assist him, and walked about 200 metres from the altercation. He then collapsed. Police refused a medical student’s request to assist Mr. Tomlinson, and called medics instead. Mr. Tomlinson was pronounced dead on arrival at hospital. What the police officers did not know at the time was that Ian Tomlinson was not a protestor; instead, he was a bystander attempting to skirt the protestors on his way home. Additionally, the police did not know that he was impaired with alcohol. Tomlinson had also spent many years without housing security, living on the streets. The death of Ian Tomlinson was investigated through three post-­mortems, an inquest, and several enquiries into police action on the day, and led to the creation of the NPIA’s (2010) Manual Guidance on Keeping the Peace. While Constable Harwood was found not guilty of manslaughter after the Crown Prosecution Service laid charges, he was dismissed from the London

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Metropolitan Police Service after a disciplinary hearing found that he had acted with ‘gross misconduct’. Additionally, he was subject to a civil lawsuit, which was settled by the Met for an undisclosed amount of money. The Met’s Deputy Assistant Commissioner also provided the family with an official apology. Bray (2013) suggests that this case is illustrative of ‘paradoxical justice’ in that the officer was not charged and found guilty, but that the Met, in agreeing to this settlement, accepted that the behaviour of the officers warranted justice. ◄

A View from the Frontline

At the annual Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Parade the NSW Police Force acts to ensure the safety and security of Parade participants as well as spectators. For several years, a contingent of police have also participated in the Parade, with Gay and Lesbian Liaison Officers and other LGBTIQ+ and allied members of the police proudly marching in uniform. But not all members of LGBTIQ+ communities welcome police participation in the parade. In the 1970s and 1980s, the culture of the NSW Police Force was vastly different to today. At the time of the first Mardi Gras Parade in 1978, homosexuality was illegal, punishable by up to 14  years imprisonment. There were no anti-­discrimination protections for LGBTIQ+1 communities. Being ‘outed’ could, and did, result in termination of employment and other consequences. While prosecutions for committing a homosexual ‘offence’ were rare, the status of illegality, together with rampant moral conservatism, generated a hegemonic culture of institutionalised oppression, discrimination, and sanctioned violence against members of the LGBTIQ+ community. At that time, corruption was also deeply entrenched in the institutions of government, including police. Extortion of gay bars and entrapment of gay men at well-known beats was common practice for police. Lesbians were frequently harassed by police at lesbian bars, which were also subject to extortion. Police were also implicated in gay bashings and murders. (continued)

 At the time of the 1978 protest, the acronym, LGBTIQ+, did not exist and has been used here to reflect contemporary terminology. 1

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(continued) It was within this social and political environment that the first Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras Parade strolled and danced its way down Oxford St to Hyde Park on the evening of 24 June 1978. Police hounded participants all the way to the park at which point they declared the parade over and seized the one and only vehicle that had led the parade. Not to be daunted, the participants heeded the call ‘Up to the Cross’, where they were met by multiple police vans and dozens of police who had removed their identifying badges. It was then that the real violence began, with police punching and shoving participants, knocking people to the ground, dragging women by their hair, and throwing people head-first into the waiting vans. And while participants pushed back, they were outnumbered and without any means of defence. That night, 52 people were arrested, with some experiencing more extreme violence in the police cells. Shortly after this event, the ‘Drop the Charges’ campaign was launched with three objectives: withdrawal of the charges against those arrested, an end to police violence against LGBTIQ+ communities and recognition of the right to peaceful public assembly. But at each public rally or protest in support of the campaign, more and more people were arrested. By the end of August 1978, 178 people had been arrested. Less than a year later, however, two of the three campaign objectives had been achieved. Almost all the charges against the 178 people were dropped due to lack of evidence of an offence. The Summary Offences Act, which constrained peaceful public assembly, was repealed. But casual, unprovoked police violence against LGBTIQ+ communities did not begin to decline until progress on LGBTIQ+ human rights had been achieved including decriminalisation of homosexuality in 1984. The people that were subject to the brutal onslaught of 24 June 1978, known as the ‘78ers’, have long memories. Indeed, some still bear the mental scars of their ordeal. The history of the 78ers is well known among LGBTIQ+ communities who view 78ers as heroes, rendering their history of ongoing relevance. But the history of the 78ers is not simply a reminder of what the LGBTIQ+ community has suffered to enjoy the celebration of what the parade is today. It is also a reminder that over-zealous policing can irreparably damage relationships between police and LGBTIQ+ communities, as it has done for some 78ers. To avoid this undesirable outcome, the imperative of police to uphold laws relating to safety and security must be balanced by the fundamental (continued)

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(continued) human right to peaceful public assembly. In particular, public events held for the benefit of vulnerable communities such as LGBTIQ+, must be sensitively managed. The presence of police, counter terrorism measures, sniffer dogs, drug search tents, and the like must be proportionate to risk. Overzealousness can only add to the alienation and fear that many in the LGBTIQ+ community still experience, including those who identify as trans or non-binary; and/or those growing up in hostile family environments. While LGBTIQ+ communities have now secured many previously denied human rights, these rights have been hard fought and remain vulnerable to erosion. This issue remains uppermost in the minds of those who fought the battles. They urge vigilance against complacency. Police officers are entrusted with a duty to protect the rights of citizens. For the LGBTIQ+ community this means the right to identity, visibility, and community, however expressed, including the right to peaceful public assembly. This is a right that police must also remain vigilant to protect. Robyn Kennedy InterPride Human Rights Committee

Conclusion In this chapter, we have focused on the vulnerability of disabled protestors; however, the issues raised also shape other vulnerable people’s participation in public order events such as protests. There is a risk in assuming all protestors can hear (deaf), appreciate (autism), and understand (cognitively impaired, language proficiency, youth) directives from the police, and that they are able to respond to directions in a timely manner (mobility impairments). Such an assumption can dangerously, or at least negatively, impact on police actions. What police may perceive as tardiness, or animosity, may in fact be a lack of capacity to align their vulnerability with the needs of the police. These issues are likely to increase over the coming years as the world grapples with climate change, protests against racial profiling and police brutality, and angst and frustration at pandemic mandatory isolation. Additionally, police need to consider the ways in which protestors are now seeking new and innovative ways to get their message across to the public and government

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(Button et al. 2002). Already, governments around the world are beginning to criminalise specific types of protests—for example, protests against coal-seam gas and mining have been criminalised in Western Australia and New South Wales (Adair 2016)—which is likely to increase the acrimony between the public and the police, and may result in the further para-militarisation of policing. Peel, in 1829, sought to reduce the chances of the public being seen as ‘the enemy’ requiring a military force, and his ‘modern police’ were to ‘police by consent’. Backtracking on this important innovation is problematic generally, but could be deadly for vulnerable people who exercise their human right to protest.

Activities 1. Undertake a web quest to identify a public order event that involved police. Consider what tactics were used, and the possible impact these tactics may have on: • People who do not speak the national language • Young people • People with autism 2. Consider a major sports event in your own region. This may be an annual, past, or even planned event. Identify the social characteristics of attendees. • W  ho are the spectators? List their possible vulnerabilities as comprehensively as possible. • What is the role of police during that event? • Who are the police partnering with? • How are they likely to control possible agitated small groups within the crowd?

Readings and Resources Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary (HMIC) (2009). Adapting to protest—Nurturing the British model of policing. London: Home Office. National Policing Improvement Agency (2010). Manual guidance on keeping the peace. London: NPIA.

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Bibliography Adair, K. (2016). NSW anti-protest law: Taking care of big business. Retrieved April 12, 2020, from https://www.sydneycriminallawyers.com.au/blog/nsw-­anti-­protest-­laws-­ taking-­care-­of-­big-­business/. Bolgiano, D.  G., Banks, L.  M., & Patterson, J.  M. (2017). Virtuous policing: Bridging America’s gulf between police and populace. Boca Raton, FL: CRC Press. Bray, R.  S. (2013). Paradoxical justice: The case of Ian Tomlinson. Journal of Law and Medicine, 21(2), 447–472. Button, M., John, T., & Brearley, N. (2002). New challenges in public order policing: The professionalisation of environmental protest and the emergence of the militant environmental activist. International Journal of the Sociology of Law, 30(1), 17–32. Davis, M. (2019). Kettling: Why is this police tactic so controversial? Big Think. Retrieved April 14, 2020, from https://bigthink.com/politics-­current-­affairs/kettling-­controversial-­ police-­tactic. de Lint, W. (2005). Public order policing: A tough act to follow? International Journal of the Sociology of Law, 33, 179–199. de Lint, W., & Hall, A. (2009). Intelligent control: Developments in public order policing in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Ellis, J. (2019). Renegotiating police legitimacy through amateur video and social media: Lessons from the police excessive force at the 2013 Sydney gay and lesbian Mardi Gras parade. Current Issues in Criminal Justice, 31(3), 412–432. Ellis, J. R. (2020). More than a trivial pursuit: Public order policing narratives and the ‘social media test’. Crime, Media, Culture. https://doi.org/10.1177/1741659020918634. Fairclough, A. (2011, April 23). Kettling: An unwieldy, ineffective policing tactic. The Guardian. Fenwick, H. (2009). Marginalising human rights: Breach of the peace, ‘kettling’, the human rights act and public protest. Public Law, 4, 737–765. Gaunt, R. A. (2014). Peel, Robert and the metropolitan police. In J. S. Albanese (Ed.), The Encyclopedia of criminology and criminal justice. New York: Wiley-Blackwell. Gilmore, J. (2019). Lessons from Orgreave: Police power and the criminalization of protest. Journal of Law & Society, 46(4), 612–639. Gilmore, J., Jackson, W., & Monk, H. (2019). ‘That is not facilitating peaceful protest. That is dismantling the protest’: Anti-fracking protesters’ experiences of dialogue policing and mass arrest. Policing and Society, 29(1), 36–51. Goldsworthy, T. (2014, August 19). Urban combat: Ferguson and the militarisation of the police. The Conversation. Gorringe, H., & Rosie, M. (2013). We will facilitate your protest’: Experiments with liaison policing. Policing: A Journal of Policy and Practice, 7(2), 204–211. Greer, C., & McLaughlin, E. (2010). We predict a riot? Public order policing, new media environments and the rise of the citizen journalist. The British Journal of Criminology, 50(6), 1041–1059. Greer, C., & McLaughlin, E. (2012). ‘This is not justice’: Ian Tomlinson, institutional failure and the press politics of outrage. The British Journal of Criminology, 52(2), 274–293. Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary (HMIC). (2009). Adapting to protest—Nurturing the British model of policing. London: Home Office.

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Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of Constabulary (HMIC). (2010). Anti-social behaviour: Stop the rot. London: Home Office. Joyce, P., & Wain, N. (2014). Palgrave dictionary of public order policing, protest and political violence. London & New York: Palgrave. Kim, E. (2014). The specter of vulnerability and disabled bodies in protest. In M. Gill & C. J. Schlund-Vials (Eds.), Disability, human rights and the limits of humanitarianism (pp. 137–154). London: Routledge. Kitchin, R. (1998). ‘Out of place’, ‘knowing one’s place’: Space, power and the exclusion of disabled people. Disability & Society, 13(3), 343–356. Kraska, P.  B. (2007). Militarization and policing—Its relevance to 21st century police. Policing: A Journal of Policy and Practice, 1(4), 501–513. Lewis, P. (2011, April 15) A history of police kettling. The Guardian. National Policing Improvement Agency. (2010). Manual guidance on keeping the peace. London: Associate of Chiefs of Police, Associate of Chiefs of Police Scotland, and NPIA. Neal, A., Opitz, S., & Zebrowski, C. (2019). Capturing protest in urban environments: The ‘police kettle’ as a territorial strategy. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 37(6), 1045–1063. New Zealand Police. (2020). Armed response teams. Retrieved May 24, 2020, from https:// www.police.govt.nz/can-­you-­help-­us/armed-­response-­team-­trial. Noor, P. (2020a, June 9). What the George Floyd protests have achieved in just two weeks, The Guardian. Poole, R. (2006). ‘By the law or the sword’: Peterloo revisited. History: The Journal of the Historical Association, 91(302), 254–276. Reicher, S., Stott, C., Drury, J., Adang, O., Cronin, P., & Livingstone, A. (2007). Knowledge-­ based public order policing: Principles and practice. Policing: A Journal of Policy and Practice, 1(4), 403–415. Rose, D. (2015). When disabled people took to the streets to change the law. BBC News Online. Retrieved April 15, 2020, from https://www.bbc.com/news/disability-­34732084. Street Medicine (2020). Hamburg Heiligengeistfeld June 8, 1986. Retrieved April 15, 2020, from https://www.nadir.org/nadir/initiativ/sanis/archiv/brokdorf/kap_06.htm. Sutton, J. (2017). The increasing convergence of the role and function of the ADF and civil police. Australian Defence Force Journal, 202, 37–43. Vitale, A. (2020, May 31). The answer to police violence is not ‘reform’. Its defunding. Here’s why. The Guardian. Waddington, P.  A. J. (1994). Liberty and order: Public order policing in a Capital City. London: University College London Press. Waddington, D. P. (2011). Public order policing in South Yorkshire, 1984–2011: The case for a permissive approach to crowd control. Contemporary Social Science, 6(3), 309–324. Waddington, D. P., & King, M. (2005). The disorderly crowd: From classical psychological reductionism to socio-contextual theory—The impact on public order policing strategies. The Howard Journal of Criminal Justice, 44(5), 490–503.

Coda on COVID-19: Reframing Vulnerability: Policing Pandemics, Protests, and Disasters

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Introduction Disasters, public health crises, and protests used to be exceptional events. Not anymore. In the past 12 months, they have become unexceptional, and the expanding remit of police during this time has impacted not only the capacity of the police to go about their usual duties, but also damaged their relationships with some of the communities they serve. It is under these conditions that we began to write this book. After months of the worst bushfires on record in Australia, followed soon after by floods, then COVID-19, then protests against police brutality (and even more recently, the Capitol riot in the US), the landscapes of both vulnerability and policing have been transformed in less than a year. These massive changes to policing require us to end our discussion of policing practices and vulnerability with a coda on the (un)exceptional nature of vulnerability. Recent exceptional social, political, and health circumstances, exceptional public outcry about police brutality, and exceptional environmental emergencies have all highlighted the unexceptional nature of vulnerability. COVID-19, in particular, has highlighted that we were all at risk to catching a terrible disease in a context where resilience patterns are ill-defined and its spread, mostly unpredictable. Some of us hid in lockdown, most of us changed our daily routines for fear of being too vulnerable to catching a potentially deadly disease. Schools closed down, businesses shut down, and the most vulnerable became even more isolated. While police use of force has been directed at specific types of vulnerable people—racial © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3_13

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and ethnic minorities, homeless people, disabled people, and LGBTIQ+ people— the consequences of both environmental and public health emergencies have unmasked (pun absolutely intended) our own vulnerability to illness and hardship, even if we have different capacities to respond to that vulnerability. It is our hope that this new found interest in universal, ontological vulnerability may create the conditions for reconsidering how vulnerability is policed in unexceptional times.

Pandemics At a time when everyone is under pressure to act in the best interests of the public, ‘pandemic policing’ has come under the spotlight for the ways in which police are being deployed to control behaviours that under normal circumstances would not be considered in their remit (such as staying at home, and social distancing) (Brooks and Lopez 2020; Chung et al. 2020; Palmer 2020; Roberts 2020; Shirzad et al. 2020; White and Fradella 2020). The policing of public health, as with general duties policing, unequally impacts on vulnerable people.

This differential policing was most obvious in the vastly different police actions taken against white and non-white people. In the US, where the spread of COVID-­19 reached catastrophic proportions, the enforcement of stay-at-home orders (if any) or the monitoring of public gatherings was done in the absence of any consistency, and at times in the midst of conflicting leadership (federal or state) advice towards public (health) orders. It was also impacted by a lack of access in PPE, and heightened fears that first responders, including police, were putting themselves at risk of catching the disease, as well as inadvertently being super-spreaders. A shift in law enforcement priorities towards health—alongside some systemic uncertainty as to what this new role should be—exacerbated existing distrust and illegitimacy (Jones 2020; Nolan 2020). This created the conditions where, on the one hand police were handing out facemasks to white residents enjoying the park, while on the other, some New York police (along with other US policing services) were brutally assaulting African and Hispanic Americans congregating outside (Noor 2020 [May 5]). Similarly, whilst police were violently disbursing congregating African Americans in the Bronx, armed and violent white protestors demanding the reopening of business were unimpeded in their storming of government buildings (see, for example, the protests in Michigan) (Smith 2020). In the antipodes, the message from New Zealand and Australian authorities was much more consistent

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in the early days, with Tasmania and New Zealand leading the way in somewhat early recovery (as we write, the Tasmanian borders are still closed). This does not mean that there was an absence of community discontent towards leadership decisions or with police actions in the enforcement of lockdown orders, and some Australian police organisations do share their load of aggression towards community members. In Australia, the Police Accountability Project created a reporting website (https://covidpolicing.org.au/) to map police abuse of force and disproportionate policing during the pandemic. The Police Accountability Project (2020) has called for Australian governments to be more transparent about the fines and charges imposed by the police for breaches of COVID-19 public health measures (such as social distancing), including: • • • • •

The number of stops police have conducted under COVID-19 restrictions; The number of fines that have been issued under COVID-19 restrictions; Move on orders that have been given under COVID-19 restrictions; The postcode locations of these stops, fines and move-on orders; The demographics, including the perceived race, of people that have been stopped, fined or ordered to move-on; and • The reasons officers have stated for their decision to stop, fine, or order a person to move-on. Without this official data, the oversight function of the Police Accountability Project is hampered, and in the absence of similar tracking process by governments, we may come out of the current crisis without a robust analysis of how these measures have impacted vulnerable communities. Again, as we write, Victoria is seeing a resurgence of COVID-19 cases, and Victoria Police is under scrutiny for its visible and highly aggressive enforcement of lockdown guidelines in the public housing areas of Flemington and North Melbourne (Russo 2020). These portions of Melbourne inner-city are the homes of thousands of vulnerable community members, some of them elderly, some of non-English speaking background, who were left unprepared and surprised at the lack of communication and support resources when they were put under ‘house arrest’ (di Pasquale 2020). In his article on the initial Australian community statistics, Blakkarly (2020) discussed the contrast between COVID-19 fines and arrests and the ‘hot spots’ of the pandemic. Despite constituting 23% (or approximately 370 cases) of the locally acquired COVID-19 cases as of early April 2020, only one police action had been taken in the wealthier suburbs of New South Wales (including Waverly, which was identified as the site of two large active clusters of the virus). Conversely,

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Greater Western Sydney—which is home to poor and culturally and linguistically diverse communities—had only recorded 1.4% of all locally and internationally acquired cases (39 cases in all), yet constituted 33% of all infringements and arrests. This difference between behaviours and police action was most obvious in Coonamble, where one in three residents is an Indigenous Australian. While, at the time, recording only two cases of COVID-19 (0.07%), 10% of all infringements and arrests were recorded from that town alone (Blakkarly 2020). Data analysis on COVID-19 charges and fines highlight the partial application of the laws, as well as the over-policing of the ‘usual suspects’. As noted above, the fines imposed by the NSW Police Force for COVID-19-related ‘offences’ have been directed at the same populations that were over-policed before the pandemic, and with no discernible link between COVID-19 cases and police decisions (Blakkarly 2020). Additionally, police are using their expanded remit to police actions that are not even covered by the new COVID-19 provisions, such as the fining of a car convoy protest in Victoria, Australia. The protestors’ actions did not contravene the COVID-19 social distancing provisions. According to the Refugee Action Collective: [p]articipants remained in our cars throughout the event, respecting the physical distancing requirements, and each car contained a maximum of two people, both of whom were from the same household. We attached signs to our cars, or wrote slogans on the vehicles with liquid chalk. (cited in Slee 2020)

Victoria Police charged 26 people for being away from their homes, even though driving to ‘essential’ services such as hardware stores had not been criminalised. The same actions were involved, but the public, social-distanced, protest was targeted by police, resulting in a total of $43,000 in fines. In a disturbing use of old law for a new pandemic, prior to the protest, a leader of the Refugee Action Collective was arrested under a 1958 law against incitement (Slee 2020). In contrast to the over-policing of COVID-19 offences, policing services have done little to respond to what the sector warned would be a significant increase in domestic and family violence during lockdown (United Nations Population Fund 2020). United Nations Population Fund (2020) predicts that if the lockdown measures are sustained for six months, we should expect 31 million additional acts of gender-based violence. In the UK, domestic violence is said to double under current COVID-19 lockdown laws, with ‘the number of women killed by men over the first three weeks since lockdown [being] the highest it’s been for at least 11 years and double that of an average 21 days over the last 10 years’ (Grierson 2020). With decades of austerity measure eroding the resources of specialist domestic violence

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support services, service providers are saying that government and police responses to domestic violence are increasing the risk, particularly for female victims from Black and Minority Ethnic (BAME) backgrounds (Human Rights Watch 2020). In place of a concerted effort by police to increase their remit and reach for these domesticated forms of terror, the burden has been diverted to non-­government and charity organisations to address women and children’s needs at this time. In the case of Australia, the abrogation of responsibility to act—and act quickly—to address women and children’s increased risk of family violence during COVID-19 occurred in the context of the federal government’s evisceration of funding, only two months prior to the pandemic, to organisations supporting victims (Santoreneos 2020). While some state (not federal) funding has been returned to support services during the pandemic (see for example, NSW Government 2020), the burden to act is placed squarely on the shoulders of under-funded services rather than on devising more targeted and effective policing responses. Examples of the uneven application of pandemic policing provisions are replete across the world. Rather than illustrating exceptional tactics for exceptional times, the emerging data on fines and charges imposed by the police demonstrate the uneven application of pandemic policing provisions based on the pre-existing over-­policing of some communities. Pandemic policing provisions (the enforcement of isolation, the control of people’s movements) may be universal, but their application is not. While many economically secure residents may be able to self-isolate, those vulnerable to economic insecurity are forced to be out in public, and are therefore more visible to the police. Understanding the contexts of breaches of pandemic laws, as well as the legacy of over-policing marginalised communities, is important to the development of robust public (health) order policing strategies.

Protests The murder of George Floyd on 25 May 2020 was not exceptional. Killed by police after being detained for possible fraud, Floyd has come to represent the exceptional number of people—largely African and Hispanic Americans, and First Nations Peoples—killed in officer-involved deaths in the US.  In 2019 alone, 999 people were shot and killed by US police (Tate et al. 2020). Yet the true figure of police-­involved deaths in the US is difficult to ascertain. In 2014, the US Bureau of Crime Statistics accepted that the true extent of officer-involved deaths would be impossible to monitor. While shooting deaths are re-

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quired to be registered, other officer-­involved deaths are often obscured by different reporting approaches, along with the failure of some states to submit their data to the federal agency. After pressure from the The Guardian’s The Counted campaign, new efforts were made to collect and report on this data. In their community database for 2016, The Counted campaign found that 1093 people had died due to police (in)actions (McCarthy 2015). George Floyd’s death was not exceptional; it mirrors the circumstances of too many vulnerable people’s deaths at the hands of police. Yet, it was this death that sparked a sustained—and at the time of writing, an ongoing—international campaign against police brutality, which has revived calls for defunding and abolishing police. Perhaps it was the context of the unequal application of policing resources to the COVID-19 lockdowns that sparked a different and more widespread response to this death. Whatever the reasons for this qualitatively different response to an officer-involved death—and the reach of the response beyond US borders—it has initiated discussions at all levels of society about the role and remit of police, and the re-assessment of policing resources for vulnerable members of the community. As noted by scholars and activists in other countries (and discussed in more detail in Chap. 6), the unequal application of police force is neither exceptional nor unique to the US. Australian, Canadian, New Zealand, and South African police have their own track record when it comes to black deaths in custody (Bruce 2005; Cunneen and Porter 2017; Cunneen and Tauri 2019; Independent Police Conduct Authority 2012; Kynoch 2016; MacAlister et al. 2012). Indigenous Australians are the most incarcerated group of people in the world, with rates of imprisonment exceeding even that of African Americans (2346 per 100,000 v 2207 per 100,000; ABS 2016; Prison Policy Initiative 2020). Further, 100% of juvenile detainees in the Northern Territory are Indigenous Australians (Allam 2019). The landmark Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody proposed 330 recommendations to address the over-representation of Indigenous Australians (Gannoni and Bricknell 2019). In the intervening 25 years, few of these recommendations were actioned, and over 430 Indigenous Australians have been killed in police custody, without a single conviction of a police officer or criminal justice practitioner (Human Rights Law Centre 2020). Underlying this over-representation of Indigenous peoples—in Australia and elsewhere (see for example, the overrepresentation of Indigenous peoples in Canada, New Zealand, and the US)—is a similar pattern of biased policing against racial and ethnic minorities. As with US policing, Australian (and other settler)

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policing services were created within the context of racist agendas to eliminate non-white people from the landscapes of these settler societies (Cunneen and Tauri 2019). Whether it was the slave patrols (forerunners to current US policing agencies) tracking down and returning African slaves to their kidnappers, or the colonial military (forerunners to current Australian policing agencies) slaughtering Indigenous Australians in remote communities, the underlying message was the same: black and brown bodies were not fully human, and thus not fully empowered with human rights. This history of massacres and unexceptional deaths in police custody has imprinted modern policing organisations with a past that is both traumatic and vulnerabilising for non-white people.

It is no surprise, then, that levels of trust in the institutions of policing, and in individual police officers ‘just doing their job’, are plummeting. For targeted, already vulnerable, communities, the police have rarely been on their side, or prioritised their needs in creating safe communities. In fact, in the Australian context, the incarceration rate of Indigenous peoples over the last 10 years has increased by 67% at the same time that general crime rates have decreased (Cormack 2020). Given these contexts, calls for defunding and abolishing the police have been issued by many vulnerable communities. As we discussed in Chap. 4, public health approaches to safety may offer solutions to the underlying problems that create symptoms such as criminal behaviour. Investing in non-police activities, and prioritising public health strategies in addressing the problems, requires governments to take the lead by divesting in police resources and reinvesting these funds elsewhere to address the underlying causes of crime. Modern policing is over 200 years old; yet, despite the same issues arising over and over again—even within the context of ‘evidence-led’ practice—policing organisations and governments continue to believe that the problem of crime can be resolved by doing the same thing over and over again. The death of George Floyd, and the attendant public protests in the US and worldwide, may be the impetus for a determined consideration of doing things otherwise; of thinking beyond more (diverse) police officers, more training, more weapons, and more evidence-based strategies. Such calls are not new; many others, following the deaths of Stephen Lawrence in the UK, or Rodney King in the US, have sown the seeds of hope for change. Perhaps this time—with this death in police custody—the public and their governments may be ready to reimagine what safety and welling may look like without the need for policing as we know it.

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Disasters Just as was the case at the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic, during natural and environmental disasters, vulnerable people are on the frontline, and often without the individual, community, and government resources necessary to manage their vulnerability. Research on natural disasters shows that the first people to be considered collateral damage in responding to crises are disabled people, who are harder to reach, and harder to evacuate during an emergency. According to the United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Asia and the Pacific (2015), disabled people are two to four times more likely to die in a disaster or emergency than abled people, and are likely to experience increased risks of violence and neglect during emergencies (Royal Commission into Violence, Abuse, Neglect, and Exploitation of People with Disability 2020). Just as we noted in Chap. 12 in relation to public order policing, emergency services, including the police, are consistently under-prepared for the needs of disabled and other vulnerable people (such as children and the elderly). This was the case in many natural disasters, such as Hurricane Katrina or the 2010 earthquake in Haiti. Frieden (2006, 1) notes in the National Council on Disability’s review of the response to Hurricanes Katrina and Rita, that: …people with disabilities were disproportionately affected by the Hurricanes because their needs were often overlooked or completely disregarded. Their evacuation, shelter, and recovery experiences differed vastly from the experiences of people without disabilities. People with disabilities were often unable to evacuate because transportation was inaccessible. For example, most evacuation busses did not have wheelchair lifts. Moreover, people with visual and hearing disabilities were unable to obtain necessary information pertinent to their safety because said communication did not comply with federal law.

Of the latter point, comparable problems arose during the 2019/2020 bushfires emergency in Australia, with critical bushfire evacuation information not provided in accessible formats, and emergency government briefings broadcasted by media without the Auslan interpreter visible. Similarly, it was left to Australia’s multicultural media organisation, the Special Broadcasting Service, to provide this important information in languages other than English; a role they have replicated during the COVID-19 pandemic. Emergency and policing services, along with their governments, failed to even consider these issues in either their disaster planning before the event, or during the emergency. In place of a robust disaster planning strategy that included the needs of vulnerable people, disabled people are reliant on local community resources and sup-

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ports, including technologies (apps, websites) that link vulnerable people with abled people capable of providing support. However, when it comes time to evacuate, disabled people are reliant on government shelters and camps, many of which are wholly unsuitable for some disabled people (Alexander 2015). In particular, many shelters cannot accommodate people in wheelchairs or those reliant on ­medical technology to sustain their body functions (such as respiratory devices). Nor can they provide the physical distancing required by people who are immuno-­ compromised. Some disabled people, despite the risk of the fire consuming their homes, believe that they would be safer and would be able to manage their health needs better at home (Royal Commission into Violence, Abuse, Neglect, and Exploitation of People with Disability 2020). Policing services are rarely the lead agency in disaster management in most countries, but they have a critical role in supporting other frontline services during the time of an emergency.

Working with other emergency services, disability support organisations, and disabled people, police can play a critical role in supporting disaster and emergency planning, and providing targeted assistance during evacuation. In rural and remote locations, where emergency services are less likely to exist, police often are required to take the lead, however unprepared they are to do so. Understanding the contexts of emergency planning and disability, and preparing for the likelihood of needing to support vulnerable people—disabled, young, and older people—are important tasks, not only during disasters and emergencies.

Conclusion It is our intention in writing this book to better prepare police for the presence of vulnerability. We also want to point to the various ways that innovation in practice for one vulnerable community—whether it is ethnic minorities, or disabled, LGBTIQ+, or homeless people—can provide relief to others who are vulnerabilised by individual, social, or institutional barriers. In this respect, we have much to learn from the margins, including the possible bespoke needs of vulnerable people that may address the needs of all people who come in contact with the police. Whether victims, offenders, witnesses or, in fact, police practitioners themselves, in addressing the needs of the few recognised vulnerable group, a universal precautions model addresses the needs of all stakeholders.

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However, in order to fully account for vulnerability in policing encounters, we must first acknowledge that vulnerability is ubiquitous. Vulnerability shapes our perceptions of our risks of victimisation, irrespective of whether we are vulnerable due to a personal characteristic. Vulnerability also influences if, when, and how people engage in rule breaking. It informs our actions as bystanders and witnesses, and our capacity and willingness to report crime. And the ever-present risk of harm and death from undertaking police work is underpinned by the structural and institutional vulnerabilities that adhere to police work. In acknowledging that criminal justice is infused with vulnerability, we can begin to reimagine vulnerability not as something ‘they’ experience, but as something that is inherently human. As an inherent quality of being human, and as something that may enable increased empathy between people, acknowledging and accounting for vulnerability in all police encounters assists us to reframe precarity as a strength rather than a weakness. The task of addressing vulnerability in policing is nascent; we are only just beginning the work required to transform the experiences of vulnerability in policing. We hope that the stories and strategies to emerge out of COVID-19, Black Lives Matter protests, and environmental and natural disasters facilitate more appropriate policing approaches to vulnerability, including the recognition that policing might not be ‘the right treatment’ (Anderson and Burris 2017, 306) in resolving the negative impacts of vulnerability.

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© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3

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Index

Numbers and Symbols #DefundthePolice, 55

Assault, 21, 80, 120–122, 185, 188, 193 Autonomy, 9, 18, 22, 39

A Addiction, 19, 46, 100 Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs), 111, 117–119, 123 African American, 153 Age, 5, 19, 186 children, 4, 8, 11, 18, 39, 41, 44, 45, 72, 86, 90, 94, 96, 111, 117, 119, 132, 133, 138, 175, 184, 185, 194, 210, 225, 228 elderly, 40, 45, 223, 228, 229 youth, 4, 6, 8, 10, 11, 21, 26, 38, 39, 43, 44, 55–57, 72, 76, 80, 85, 86, 88, 90, 94, 111, 113, 117, 119, 120, 131–135, 137, 140, 154, 157, 159, 216 Agency, 5, 9, 22, 39, 40 Apprehended (Domestic) Violence Orders, 98, 190 Arrest, 9, 24, 28, 29, 51, 52, 55, 80, 81, 86, 89, 90, 92, 93, 98, 119, 120, 154, 171, 190, 191, 206–208, 212, 223

B Bail, 86, 117, 120, 157, 173 Behavioural health vulnerabilities, 108–110, 122 Black and Minority Ethnic (BAME), 37, 39, 87, 225 See also People of Colour (PoC); Culturally and Linguistically Diverse (CALD) Black Lives Matter, 207, 230 C Children, see Age, children Cognitive impairment, see Disability, cognitive impairment Colonisation, 87 post-colonial, 153, 154, 156, 158 Community engagement, 43, 69–71, 73–79, 81, 130 Competition of suffering, 38, 137, 139, 140 COVID-19, 35, 60, 86, 153, 203, 207, 221–226, 228, 230

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 N. L. Asquith, I. Bartkowiak-Théron, Policing Practices and Vulnerable People, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-62870-3

259

260 Culturally and linguistically diverse (CALD), 11, 39, 41, 72, 87, 88, 139, 223, 224 See also Black and Minority Ethnic; People of Colour (PoC) Custody, 4, 9, 20, 29, 30, 41, 81, 89–96, 98, 99, 101, 156, 171–173, 177, 226, 227 death in, 24, 89, 93, 94, 96, 226 D Dangers/dangerous, 18, 21–23, 52, 155, 166, 168 Democratisation, 152, 153, 156 Dependence, 18, 22, 38 Detention, 9, 24, 30, 80, 85–87, 89–94, 96, 98, 101, 107, 108, 121, 206 Disability, 5, 19, 20, 38, 39, 41, 78, 87, 108, 139, 186–188, 192, 208, 229 autism, 108, 138, 216 cognitive impairment, 19, 21, 107, 108, 119 disabled people, 39, 40, 45, 72, 87, 88, 141, 185, 192, 194, 208–210, 216, 222, 228, 229 intellectual, 4, 18, 41, 87, 108, 109, 121 mental illness, 20, 21, 54–57, 96, 108, 109, 119, 134, 170, 174 physical, 4, 39 traumatic brain injury, 91, 108 Domestic and family violence, 9, 43, 88, 98, 111, 137, 157, 183–185, 189–193, 224, 225 Drugs, 6, 38, 45, 54, 62, 95, 96, 98–100, 108, 111, 116, 118, 121, 122, 132, 133, 137, 154, 155, 193, 216 E Ethnicity, 21, 39 See also Race

Index F Family violence, see Domestic and family violence First Nations Peoples, 20, 87, 225 See also Indigenous G Global North, 150–152, 154–156, 160, 161 Global South, 10, 150–154, 156, 160, 161 H Harm, 5, 14, 18, 20, 22, 24, 30, 39, 54, 58, 78, 88, 90, 92, 94, 113, 143, 157, 173, 183, 185, 189, 196, 205, 212, 230 Hate crime, 9, 29, 44, 45, 88, 138, 183–189, 192–197 in terrorem, 183, 184, 188, 197 HIV/AIDS, 25, 61, 81, 154–155 Homicide, 184, 185, 188–190 Housing, 8, 46, 53, 56, 59, 60, 86, 135, 213, 223 homelessness, 6, 10, 19, 59, 60, 85, 86, 112, 186, 187 homeless people, 56, 58–60, 86, 87, 222, 229 Human rights, 14, 36, 44, 45, 47, 57, 58, 158, 207, 215, 216, 227 I Imprisonment, 24, 98, 214, 226 Indigeneity, 19, 21, 41 Indigenous, 85, 87, 88, 93, 94, 119, 140, 156, 157, 226, 227 Indigenous peoples, 5, 11, 39, 41, 87, 93, 94, 98, 99, 224, 226 Injury, 21, 30, 95, 169, 174, 176, 206 Intellectual disability, see Disability, intellectual

Index Interview, 24, 89, 107–110, 112–115, 117–119, 122, 123, 192 Achieving Best Evidence (ABE), 110, 117, 118 Intimate partner violence, see Domestic and family violence K Kettling, 205, 206, 208–210, 212 L Law enforcement and public health, 47, 51, 56, 57 Law Enforcement (Powers and Responsibilities) Act 2002, 4, 28, 40, 72, 90, 96, 172 LGBTIQ+, 11, 19, 39, 51, 71, 76, 87, 130, 137, 138, 140, 184–188, 192, 214–216, 222, 229 London Metropolitan Police Service, 37, 43, 47, 136, 142, 192, 193, 210, 213, 214 M Mental health, 6, 46, 55, 62, 96, 108, 130, 131, 134–135, 137, 139, 142, 166, 168–171, 173–175, 177 Mental illness, see Disability, mental illness Miranda v Arizona, 90, 91, 113 Miranda warning, 89, 90, 113 Morbidity, 6, 108 N New Zealand Police, 191 NSW Police Force, 38, 41–43, 45, 90, 92, 94, 95, 113, 136, 186, 192, 214, 224

261 O Offenders, 6, 9, 18, 20, 21, 24, 26, 30, 31, 37, 41, 57, 71, 80, 81, 85–90, 92–96, 98, 100, 101, 107–115, 117–120, 122, 123, 166, 177, 186–188, 190–194, 206, 229 offending, 19, 23, 86, 87, 112, 122, 132, 134, 157, 189, 190 Old, see Age, elderly Older people, see Age, elderly P Pandemic, 85, 216, 222–225, 228 PEACE/PEICE, 110, 111, 113–115, 117, 118, 122 People of Colour (PoC), 39, 87, 96 See also Black and Minority Ethnic; Culturally and linguistically diverse Physical disability, see Disability, physical Police code of Conduct/Ethics/Practice, 4, 44, 92, 95, 116, 136 culture, 37, 73, 167–168, 172 discretion, 4, 7, 18, 24, 26, 96, 159, 160, 169, 211, 212 distrust of, 72, 109, 151, 152, 167, 222 estranged relationships with, 156, 204 liaison officers, 133, 136–140, 143, 158 liaison schemes, 9, 129–131, 134–137, 139, 140, 143 peer support networks, 168 training, 21, 27, 56, 61, 62, 77, 93–96, 109, 130, 133, 135, 138, 143, 155, 160, 172–174, 192, 193, 205, 206, 227 Police and Criminal Evidence Act (PACE) 1984, 110, 113, 171 Police Scotland, 44, 45, 47, 98, 117

262 Policing community, 7, 72, 74, 87, 129–133, 143, 195 by consent, 70, 151, 153, 166, 207 democratic, 93, 94, 110, 151, 154, 160 diversionary approaches, 24, 94 over-, 10, 23, 38, 78, 86, 88, 89, 93–95, 224, 225 pandemic, 222, 225 paramilitary, 94, 151 public order, 203–212, 228 service enhancements, 24, 25, 27, 28 under-, 23, 86, 88, 89 Poverty, 18, 46, 54, 58, 72, 86, 154, 159 R Race, 21, 39, 51, 131, 140, 186, 187, 192, 223 See also Ethnicity Refugees, 11, 39, 43, 112, 139, 150 Resilience, 9, 18, 23, 36, 168, 175, 221 Risk, 6, 11, 13, 22, 39, 55, 61, 78, 80, 89, 92, 94–99, 111, 118, 119, 132, 133, 140–142, 155, 165, 166, 169–171, 174, 177, 190, 191, 206, 216, 221, 222, 225, 229, 230 S Safeguarding, 6, 20, 35, 39, 40, 44, 45, 57, 143 Safety, 4, 11, 23, 26, 43, 45, 46, 59, 70, 72, 75–77, 80, 81, 88, 93, 112, 117, 133, 150, 156, 157, 161, 188–191, 195, 196, 214, 215, 227, 228 Social determinants, 52–54, 72, 140 Socio-economic factors, 55, 135, 140 Stress, 13, 110, 117, 157, 165, 166, 169, 170, 172, 176 T Trauma -informed, 3, 110–113, 116, 117, 123, 174 PTSD, 21, 166, 168, 171 vicarious, 21, 107, 111

Index U Universal precautions, 14, 18, 25, 26, 28, 39, 91, 110, 112, 116, 139, 229 V Victimisation, 11, 19, 21, 23, 88, 107, 111, 116, 122, 134, 142, 155, 156, 184, 189–191, 193, 196, 230 Victims, 4, 6, 9, 10, 18, 20, 21, 26, 29–31, 37, 43, 45, 57, 73, 74, 81, 88, 98, 100, 107–115, 117, 118, 122, 123, 138, 140, 142, 143, 155–157, 166, 177, 183–193, 196, 225, 229 Victoria Police, 44, 45, 92, 187, 223, 224 Violence child abuse, 88, 132, 168, 185 elder abuse, 88, 185 targeted, 9, 183–185, 188, 189, 194–197, 207 terrorism, 43, 74, 76, 79, 80, 184, 188, 195–197, 216 Vulnerability categories, 4, 30, 41, 139 checklist, 18 definition, 4, 5, 12–14, 19, 71, 72, 142 enduring, 5, 20, 143 exacerbated, 5, 7, 17, 20, 24, 27, 89, 92, 108, 206, 222 exceptional, 19, 24, 27, 208 external threats, 23, 25 fragility, 5, 21–23, 30 iatrogenic, 20–22, 24–26, 30, 37, 91, 101, 154, 171 individual, 5, 19–21, 23–26, 36, 37, 39, 85, 89, 107, 168–169, 196 intersectional, 26, 39 labels/labelling, 9, 11, 20, 22, 38, 41, 158 layers of, 20, 41, 107, 138, 183, 192 operational, 170–171 operationalisation, 3, 4, 14, 35, 36, 41, 45, 53 police, 21, 165–179 potentiality for, 23 psychological, 108, 178 siloed, 24, 27, 43, 53, 130, 138, 141 situational, 19, 21–25, 37, 41, 92, 107, 205, 206

Index temporary, 5, 13 tipping points, 24, 27, 28, 30, 85, 101, 176 types of, 19–20, 26, 139 ubiquity, 5, 9, 10, 20, 22, 208, 230 universal or ontological, 19, 22, 25, 26, 222 -as-weakness, 18 Vulnerable communities/people, 3–7, 9, 10, 12, 14, 18, 23, 27, 30, 36, 38–41, 43–45, 47, 56, 57, 62, 69–72, 76–82, 85, 86, 88, 89, 94–96, 101, 110, 112, 113, 117, 119, 122, 129, 136, 142, 150, 153, 154, 159, 161, 173, 183, 187, 191, 195–197, 204–206, 209–212, 216, 217, 221–223, 226–229 recognised vulnerable groups, 22, 229

263 W Welfare, 7, 18, 52, 89, 96, 116, 152, 155 Wellbeing, 4, 14, 44, 54, 93, 111, 150, 156, 170, 173–175 Witnesses, 6, 9, 18, 21, 30, 31, 57, 71, 81, 107–115, 117, 118, 123, 166, 169, 229, 230 Women, 44, 61, 100, 116, 140, 151, 153, 155, 156, 158, 183–185, 189–191, 194, 215, 224, 225 Women’s Police Stations, 155–156, 161 Y Youth, see Age, youth