No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP (27 page)

It was time to contemplate the balance of my career and my life to determine what was intrinsically important. I had long desired to live on Vancouver Island, where I had spent some of my youth, and Lynne and I planned to move there eventually. In 1988, while on a holiday to visit my parents in Victoria, Lynne and I travelled to Courtenay, a Vancouver Island community north of the provincial capital. We purchased a beautiful oceanview lot and made plans to build our ideal home. We returned to the Prairies, hoping that our dream of watching the sunsets over the Pacific Ocean might become reality.

NOT LONG AFTER
Lynne and I returned to Carman from our BC holiday, I learned that the assistant officer commanding of Courtenay subdivision was requesting a transfer. I immediately contacted a former colleague who was in charge of commissioned officer postings in Ottawa, alerting him of my interest in the position. These personal requests seldom get a positive response, and I held out faint hope. I had started to consider possible business opportunities and jobs outside the Force that would allow me to relocate to Courtenay so was amazed when I received a call asking if I was still interested in the position. I felt like I had won the lottery. We arrived in Courtenay in the spring of 1989. Our new home was waiting, built on our half-acre of wooded land, overlooking the Strait of Georgia. We felt we had reached the pinnacle of our lives.

The Courtenay subdivision was a mammoth operation consisting of 350 personnel, 16 detachments, a number of plainclothes units, a dog section and a helicopter. To round out the complement, two 60-foot patrol vessels, which could be used as floating detachments when needed, were strategically placed on each side of Vancouver Island. Police personnel who arrive in British Columbia after serving in other parts of Canada experience what can only be described as culture shock. The intensity and complexity of police operations in Canada’s westernmost province cannot be compared to any other RCMP operation. Members serving in all but BC’s most isolated detachments encounter a much greater intensity of crime. Consequently, employee burnout and stress-related problems in BC far exceed that experienced in other provinces.

Due to my experience working in rural detachments in other parts of Canada, I expected to take a hands-on role. When a relatively serious event occurs after hours in most places in rural Canada, the detachment commander is roused and advised. The first priority of the investigating member is to inform the man in charge. Consequently, my instructions to members had always been to call and advise, day or night. Reaching out from a deep sleep to grope for a ringing phone was part of the job. The officer commanding in Courtenay subdivision also had a prairie policing background and felt he should be told about serious incidents. It was clearly a shock to us when we arrived at our office on a Monday morning to discover there had been murders, rapes, assaults and an assortment of additional serious offences that we were unaware of. During the acculturation process, our senior NCOs assured us that this was the way things were done in BC. Many larger detachments had their own serious-crime, identification and police-dog units, enabling them to act autonomously. The sheer volume of crime precluded advising subdivision unless unique circumstances compelled additional resources. Initially, the approach was unsettling, but it quickly became evident that matters were handled quite differently in British Columbia, and the mechanisms of handling heavy crime loads were tried and true.

I also observed another interesting phenomenon. There were far fewer British Columbia senior NCOs entering the officer candidate program than those entering from other provinces. British Columbia has by far the largest concentration of RCMP members in Canada, including many very capable senior members who would excel in the officer candidate program. The anomaly was clearly attributable to the reluctance of most BC members to leave the province. Entering the officer candidate program requires mobility across Canada, and traditionally the Force has not permitted newly commissioned officers to serve in the province from whence they came. Recently, this policy has been modified, which has encouraged more members from British Columbia to participate in the officer candidate program.

North and central Vancouver Island is home to a rich tapestry of First Nations, many of which have occupied the same location for thousands of years. Their cultures—customs, art and traditions—were complex, sophisticated and deeply enhanced by the permanence of their settlements, the abundance of local food and moderate temperatures. This contrasted with the lifestyles of First Nations of the Prairies whom I had formerly worked with, who were nomadic by necessity. At the time I arrived, RCMP members had inadequate cultural awareness of Native peoples and communication with them was poor. In fact, Bob Gillen, the senior crown prosecutor based in Victoria, was so concerned about how the aboriginal community in northern Vancouver Island regarded the justice system that he proposed a committee to study the issue.

The committee comprised Mr. Gillen, a provincial judge, representatives from social services and probation and me, as RCMP representative. Our mission was to travel to various Native communities to conduct town hall–style meetings. One of the first meetings occurred on Cormorant Island, where the village of Alert Bay is situated. Our committee assembled in the local band hall, filled to capacity with villagers. I sensed quickly that the mood in the hall was less than hospitable. Shortly after Mr. Gillen introduced our panel, participants became vocal and abusive, and the meeting seemed on the brink of pandemonium. Just when I began to contemplate how I was going to safely extract the visiting dignitaries, a powerful-looking aboriginal man in the front row stood up and roared, “Quiet!” Obviously, this individual carried considerable influence with the citizens, as the noise quickly subsided. He addressed the throng, reminding them that the committee had come to the community to hear their concerns. He told the audience that he understood their frustrations, but there was no point in attacking those who were trying to resolve some of the problems. When he concluded, the audience took a more civil approach, though many complaints and concerns regarding the justice system were vented. I learned that our saviour was Bill Wilson, a noted Vancouver Island aboriginal leader and practising lawyer. Bill and I crossed paths many times in the years to follow, and we became friends. His sometimes surly reputation was well earned. He opened an address to members of the BC Bar Association in Vancouver by stating, “We should have killed you all!” Such statements certainly rewarded him with rapt attention from his listeners but also attracted negative publicity. I never knew him as an adversary, and he was always a positive mentor to me in my dealings with aboriginal people.

Native leaders on Vancouver Island made it clear that they harboured much residual bitterness as a result of mistakes made by governments of years past. Native residential schools and the suppression of the potlatch and other cultural practices stood at the top of the list of grievances. During a session that included RCMP members and First Nations people, I made the error of encouraging the Native participants not to look back, but to look forward and guide us in how we could improve our service to them. Basil Amber, a powerful presence and respected elder, rose up and bellowed his disagreement. In no uncertain terms, he instructed me to listen and not tell the people what I wanted them to do. I quickly concluded that it was not a good time to debate the issue, so we listened for hours about the injustices and cruelty foisted on aboriginal peoples by white society in years past.

Every session started in a similar fashion, and during breaks members would come and ask me why we had to listen to tales of long ago. I told them to be patient. Even though they were initially defensive, the members learned much about First Nations culture and developed empathy for what these people had suffered. As each three-day session progressed, it moved into discussions of what police could now do to improve relations. The members’ willingness to sit and hear grievances was exactly what was needed. The sessions concluded with a wonderful traditional feast put on by the band. Many RCMP members, spouses and children participated and left with changed attitudes and a much greater understanding of First Nations people and culture. Yet despite all the steps taken to improve the RCMP’s attitude toward Native people, I was troubled to see that some senior personnel still harboured prejudice and dislike for them. No amount of positive interaction with Native people seemed to change their entrenched opinions.

Even with my long experience with First Nations, both in the field and in the classroom, I had more to learn. While formulating course material, I commented to some members of a north island nation that another nation to the south and west of them had introduced a series of cross-cultural experiences for the police that had been very successful. Sensing a cool reception, I asked one of the elders why my suggestion was not looked upon with favour. The elder told me that the Native group I mentioned was traditionally an enemy of the northern people, and communication between the two groups was minimal. Any suggestion that ideas from the south be implemented was clearly inappropriate. The following day I made amends and assured them that adopting ideas from other groups would not be an option. This seemed to satisfy the participants, and we went on to design a course almost identical to the one being employed to the south.

The troubling case of Roy Hunter demonstrated how the unwieldy RCMP bureaucracy more often than not overrode important local policies and ideas. Roy was a Native special constable attached to the Alert Bay detachment on Cormorant Island, just east of the northern end of Vancouver Island. The culturally intricate community had always been a challenge to police, and Roy had contributed much to the RCMP operation there for 17 years. In 1994, a woman in her 30s disclosed to a social worker that she and Roy had been sexually intimate when she was 15 years old, and she had been guilt-ridden since that time. Roy had been 16 when the sexual activity had allegedly occurred. The social worker relayed the information to the detachment commander, and an investigation was commenced. Roy readily admitted to being involved, but in view of the tender age of both parties, the prosecutor, the police and the community concurred that the case might be handled via aboriginal justice and a sentencing circle of elders. The complainant was also in agreement with this alternative. Earlier in 1994, Commissioner Norman Inkster had issued a no-tolerance policy for any RCMP member involved in a sexual offence. Perpetrators would be dismissed forthwith. However, Roy’s case had been discussed within “E” Division British Columbia, and it had been agreed that we would proceed by way of aboriginal justice. Special Constable Hunter appeared before the elders, where an apology to the victim was ordered along with some community constraints for a period of time. Everyone involved seemed satisfied with the action taken.

A couple of weeks after the aboriginal hearing, a directive from HQ Ottawa arrived, ordering Constable Hunter’s immediate dismissal. I was to go to Alert Bay, inform him of this decision and obtain his RCMP revolver, his warrant of appointment and his badge. We tried to countermand the order but were summarily commanded to proceed. It was one of the longest helicopter flights I had ever taken. Constable Hunter was waiting for my arrival and had no idea of the purpose of my visit. He later told me when I asked for his badge and his gun, his entire world collapsed. As I returned to Courtenay, many thoughts ran through my mind, including offering my resignation. I was seeing more and more irrational decisions that were adversely affecting members. Senior management regarded officers as part of the problem and made decisions with no input from us. In addition to the trauma Constable Hunter endured, it also lowered public regard for the Force in Alert Bay. Shortly after this incident, I did decide to retire. While Hunter’s dismissal was not the only reason for my decision, it did leave a bad taste in my mouth.