Surreal beyond Paul Merton Walking About With A Stuffed Shark. There’s even a reporter called Wanko! The series of videos has 57 ‘unique’ chefs. Join me in remortgaging the house to invest in this wonder resort. Sadly, we are already too late. JP Morgan Chase has already lost a billion and the whole shebang is in repackaging bankruptcy with around $250 million of state money gone very West. If you can take in the series of short videos you’ll find even the coastline sand had the sense to make a quick exit as the building went up! Still time to stack your pension fund into Allcoppedout (Cayman Offshore) which will be bringing private sector expertise to the re-launch of the Bliar plan for an East Manchester super casino. Our iron chefs will be Chinese and every chip shop will sport an acre of one-armed bandits. The Millennium Doom will be transported strip by strip from London and be turned into a bouncy castle with blackjack and strippers. Policing will be private sector too and at no cost to the public – other than those offending the new decorum being frog-marched to cash machines where their bank accounts will be stripped by our partner agency Capone’s Guardian Angels. Invest now – you will never live to regret it! The videos were all packaged to sell the resort to potential investors. I’d rather pay tax and see a few more coppers on the beat than think drivel concepts like this bring urban renewal. The embedded video seems to change – the main ones can be found at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HuFJzgyUt0Q&feature=player_embedded&list=UUqic0ZJestynEt-BYH8tdOg
The story really starts 35 years ago. I was working Old Trafford and got a call to another beat. It was a favour from Panda control The complainant was apparently very tasty. I found a couple with a young baby driven out of there wits. The problem was an old woman next door (terraced housing). There was nothing I could do at the time, other than establish the old dear was barking. I said I’d be back to help and it was clear the young couple didn’t believe me. They’d been let down by at least ten other cops, including one I was going out with.
I went back three times to collect evidence from other neighbours over the week. Rumours my interests were only in the guy’s wife abounded, as they do. The evidence amounted to discipline charges against fellow officers – they had had plenty of scope to act and had not. It was enough to satisfy me something had to be done. Putting together 40 pages of documentation that would make a case and drop my colleagues in the proverbial wasn’t much of an option. I tried social services and got the usual fob-off.
The easiest route was to lock the mad woman up for something solid. I didn’t regard her as criminal, but she was doing stuff like hurling roof-slates at kids,playing blaring music and banging on doors, walls and ranting. I took a few statements that left the other officers out and went to tell her a few things, knowing she would get irate. It worked and she hit me – totally ‘unprovoked’. She I nicked her for police assault. This was around tea-time on a day I’d started at 6 a.m. She was squabbling along with her husband and clearly giving me a hard time. Another young couple stopped and asked if they could help. They parked their car (they were just passing) and stayed with me until the van came – for moral support. My mate the van driver rewarded them by running into the back of their car – just a light lens broken. The charge office sergeant wasn’t happy with a police assault charge, but we did a breach of the peace thing and I had thus to go to court the following morning. Another job kept me up all night.
The court appearance saw the old dear get the social services’ help she needed and I have to say after this all parties, including her and her husband got the peace they needed. People involved were decent enough to thank me, including the now none mad old dear.
‘My case’ starts in this series of incidents because the response of GMP more than 30 years later was as piss poor as in the old case until I arrived on the scene. Much worse when one considers the perpetrators were vile, thieving, child-abusing drunken recidivist scum. The very idea that police and other authorities have learned lessons is bunkum – they were worse more than 30 years on, with all kinds of new legislation and alleged partnotship notworking.
Like other cops I went to many domestics and neighbour disputes and often did not much because not much needed or could be done. Some complainants were just ‘complainers’, and I saw women egging their partners on to hit them so I’d arrest them and they could then demonstrate their love by refusing to give evidence. Squalid crap mostly, though the clear problem was our lack of power to do anything in clearly dangerous or severe nuisance situations. A lot of cops share my view that we were trained in nothing that mattered other than by more experienced cops and a sense of morality. One night, with twenty rioting yobs advancing on us my mate asking if I was any good at fighting. He wasn’t, he said after I’d mentioning playing rugby.. One other officer had run away and my mate Ken was bruising away in the distance. We charged through the mob to join him. The three of us and two more from Traffic arrested 15 or so, back-to-back at one point.
That night we were supposed to do observations on a house a woman with an injunction against her husband was living in. None of the section were on patrol,everyone dealing with prisoners. I did the charge sheets because I was the only one who could type at any speed. The house was on my beat, so when a 999 call came in, I dropped everything and raced off to my Panda car. My old mate Bill followed, as fine a human being one was likely to meet. We got there in time and arrested the vile husband under the injunction. I near thing, you might think – but think on – the injunction turned out to have no power of arrest and he was released later in the morning and nearly killed her in the afternoon. Bill and I knew there was no power of arrest. We acted illegally and knew. So did the bastard. We ‘Rag and Flocked’ him for drunk and disorderly (£10 fine). One got used to the law being an ass. Of course, it still is. He was released without any power of arrest being added to the injunction. One might wonder what barking use one is without one.
More than 30 years later it is reasonable to think no lessons get learned by our authorities gone mad when they still issue injunctions without powers of arrest, and they do. You will also discover victims have no support from any ‘Victims’ Code’ until they are dead. The woman with the injunction was supposed to be visited regularly on the afternoon her violent husband was released, but I know she wasn’t and that the relevant log was altered. Two off duty cops attended the house meaning to suggest one of them stayed the night there. Otherwise she’d be dead.
The evil couple I came to know much better than I wanted to were in a more or less constant state of domestic violence or feuds with other families. This was the case over the twenty years before I was fated to meet them. They still are. They do the same things they did when they were teenagers in trouble, relying on the same lies and posturing to keep themselves ‘out of trouble’ – which means always in it. The question, as we explore their lives in part three, is why no one is really interested and prepared to prevent the injustices done in the lives they blight or admit the problem as everyone is affected by it. I met plenty similar in the 1970’s and believe more help was available all round then. I won’t be considering the economics, but I’m sure the leaching of cash and wage decimation is a key background cause.
Wandering through our town centre with an old mate over from the States, we laughed between ourselves watching some of our white urban poor. We might have been crying, but we ain’t men that cry. Many of the problems are obvious, so obvious you can see them on a trip from one pub to another. We needed none of the sociology we teach (mine is ‘post-industrial’). The old white working class isn’t working and no one gives a damn. We were once of it and able to leave. The supply of tickets is long used up. Part of the problem is that we left.
I know you guys don’t do economics. I found it miserable at school, taught by a bastard called ‘Happy’ who spent his time preening pretty girls, before running off with one. What put me off was it was so evidently a crock with numbers. I switched to another real science subject. Finding myself remaindered to teaching and researching management baloney , I got interested in why it was all so dire. The link above is to a fairly short piece of ‘economic deconstruction’ by the admirable Yves Smith (who could run away with me at 17 anytime).
Economics is actually religious rather than scientific. It’s run by priests who describe their work in ‘Latin’ to the god only they can communicate with, and its scriptures start with Adam Smith, Yves Smith is just one of many commentators challenging some of the principle tenets of the subject. The particular one around at the moment is the emergence of money from barter systems. There is no evidence of this, rather the contrary. Given economics is religious, it’s heresy to believe the evidence.
I don’t know how ‘non-economic’ any particular person is. I don’t do the religion myself,other than as a vampire hunter might learn about vampires. That a rich-political-economic class exists and sucks our blood, seems to follow from the evidence. Most people I meet can’t do economic argument, including most I’ve played some role in graduating. Intercourse the elasticity of supply and demand does justice to this particular penguin. Real masters of the subject, like Growling-balls Brown and Sniffer Osbourne sell gold just as the price is about to go exponential or cut public spending just when we need it most.
Trying to get a realistic public dialogue on economics is impossible, It’s like trying to develop chemistry from alchemy. It doesn’t even merit its sobriquet as ‘the dismal science’. It works by boring you to death and exploiting your ignorance.
Imagine you play cards for money and find the same bunch of people always win. I’d recommend you stop playing cards as a first rule (if I didn’t whip out a pack and rip you off myself). But let’s say you don’t feel you’ve been playing the people better at cards than you and this is true. We do an investigation and find marked cards and spot some of the players secretly swapping cards. We all know what this is.
Economics needs a similar police-detective style unmasking. I’d prefer to make the enquiry scientific, but I’m sure not enough people understand science and how it treats evidence. More than this, science can’t kick down the necessary doors to get at the fraud. What’s going on is organised crime, as those posing as ‘cops’ in the system are bent.
The first evidence in front of us is the rich, the people supposedly playing the same game as the rest of us who end up with nearly all the winnings. Just like card-sharps, they claim just to be better players than us or blessed with luck. I play bridge for money, I don’t cheat and rarely lose -some of us do play better than others. When I play in rubbers with only expert players i barely hold my own. Some are much better than me – though these players still screw up playing with novice partners, assuming competence that isn’t there.
The presence of these regular winners in our society needs investigation. A big block to such investigation is the ideology of meritocracy, though this has to be understood in our general state of ignorance. If we think of the world’s wealth as ‘jewels’ that arise from human toil, we’d find hoards of these jewels amongst the rich. If we’d been receiving, as cops, complaints about jewel thieving, we’d suspect the rich because they have the hoards of jewels. This is the actual economic situation. You can check this out at ONS, Wikkipedia or any source.
The rich may claim to have their own secret ‘jewel making machines’ or to have come across their wealth by fair means – just as the looter will tell you the plasma televisions stacked in a spare bedroom ‘fell off the back of a lorry’. I’m not trying to get you to think of all the rich as thieves – just to apply ‘police suspicion’. If you are family, friend or neighbour of a murder victim, you are a suspect on statistical grounds I did this to many people. It’s fraught with dangers, not least in skewing evidence to fit your suspicion. One reason we should treat miscarriages of justice much more openly is that they could teach us a great deal about our general incompetence and lack of understanding of evidence in all circles.
To follow my argument you need to know more about the rich and their wealth to understand the ‘jewel’ metaphor, but also what you take for granted about life so that this doesn’t cloud your thinking. This latter is very difficult. More on the ‘jewel thieving’ in part two – the dog is pining for a walk.
I should point out David Graeber has just commented that Yves Smith didn’t write the post at the link (her blog), so we can presume he did. I managed to miss David when I was a university academic swamped with teaching. His books are well worth a read and you can get a good glimpse at Amazon. The latest, ‘Debt: the first 5000 years’, is not only superb on its topic, but gets at the issues of thinking ‘history in the present’.
Domestic violence is a bigger problem than most who don’t suffer from it know. The way it’s dealt with is a disgrace, but this is nothing new. It’s very difficult for those of us who won’t use violence to understand at all. We should operate a zero tolerance policy in respect of DV – but we have little clue of what this would mean. We don’t even generally know what DV is, often limiting our view to that of a bloke knocking his wife about.
There are big questions as to whether police cold be doing a better job or whether we need to change the whole system. And it’s hard to know whether we make anything better or worse through intervention. Most of us like the idea of our homes and lives being private, so any intervention needs to be considered.
Hogday has posted recently on how dire getting involved in these matters as a cop was and no doubt remains. I can only add to this in extreme. A patient was lost on my watch. Back then, I’d arrested the culprit beforehand, only to discover I had no power of arrest under the relevant injunction (swift change to police assault) and he committed the murder whilst on police bail.
When I first arrived at a domestic’s door, I had no clue they took place. In my family they had been no more than raised voices and sulking. I had no relevant training, even in self-defence (other than from the rugby field). Initially, I thought I had brought about a ‘cure’, but I was back next shift. Advice given by more experienced officers was broadly not to get involved – she’d only retract any statement after being given a ‘good servicing’ or threats we could do nothing about – this was pretty accurate advice, fitting maybe 85% of cases. The victims were nearly all women, nearly all poor, thick and either drunk or victims of drunkenness. The worst cases were generally father an son (step-children as a rule).
One could lump neighbour disputes in with domestics – again 85% were just a waste of time. All one could do was try to restore the peace. I don’t remember any referrals to other agencies – these were either non-existent or hapless like social services. Occasionally, a decent social worker might be involved, and we might make a joint visit, but this was very rare.
As Gadget and contributors are prone to point out, there were many threats and death threats – so familiar you could more or less ignore them with impunity. One night, a Xmas Eve and snowing, I arrived at a domestic’s door. ‘What the fuck do you want short-arse’? was the response from a massive loon, body-sculptured from time in a marine gun crew. He wasn’t going to let me in. Too many kids to count and his wife could be seen inside the filthy place, all scared. Dreams of a meal with my own wife faded. It was already being kept warm as I was filling in after 2-10 for an absent night shifter, as were two more of my crew. The bloke tried to push me, so hard he fell into the snow when he missed. Inside, I found a complete mess and his wife in need of hospital. I called an ambulance and for assistance. Our shift was so thin the assistance cal went to Traffic and the panda control guy said he’d come out.
The story could make a book. I had to fight the ex-serviceman, to a point I could hardly hit him again because my knuckles were bleeding and bruised and I’d dislocated an ankle throwing him to the ground. A female member of the ambulance crew finally rendered him unconscious with the wrong end of an oxygen bottle. It turned out to be his brother’s house (real pleasure in nicking him for burglary the following week) and the wife and kids were thrown out into the snow. Social services refused to attend until threats to call the Daily Mail – the kids ended-up at my house eating my dinner at one point, plus getting whatever else was in stock and Xmas presents for my nieces.
One hopes things have moved on. I know all kinds of rules have been brought in, including special DV teams, taking photographs of injuries and so on. I also know that much has stayed the same from personal experience of hapless policing of an evil poor family moved in next door, that was never resolved, now continuing a mile away. We even have DV courts in some areas and I have organised and attended conferences on the same. The experts talk a good job, but I saw it all fail next door, until she tried to fire-bomb a house round the corner.
The Xmas Eve job wasn’t the one that ended with a death. He was charged with police assault, despite my injuries and those of his wife. You may not think this fair, but he never re-offended and was contrite, humble and deeply shocked at his own behaviour the following day. It was my decision and that of his wife. Social services found them a house, a dire shit-hole they made into a palace. I did a morning with a wheel-barrow there when I turned up to check they were doing more than playing happy families. Thank the lord I didn’t have to fight him sober! This guy looked much more of a threat than my former neighbours, yet they were far more dangerous despite looking much more petty.
The experts are fairly good at establishing what the problems are and some of the causes. I did attend cases where the victim was the husband, but am surprised that 30% of those needing casualty treatment are male – though I believe this and it fits. Some of the women ‘ask’ for what they get, though this hardly excuses the violence. What does is a vile sub-culture in which violence is lauded, and little is done to penetrate this culture and its ‘non-values’. There is no real excuse, though many of the victims and perpetrators are hooked in a system close to madness or mad.
Many of the people involved make threats they have no intention of carrying through, but what should be learned from this (and is) is not that such threats can be safely ignored. The real victims are often the poor sods living next to a family out of control. They see nothing happening after call after call to the cops and other agencies. The real problem is what can be acted on as evidence and lack of the means and often enthusiasm to get it. Times have changed, but most arrests during domestics in my time were for assault on police – because we could arrest and get convictions for that, rather than the sorry messes we ended up with trying as the law supposed was possible and wasn’t. I even remember getting a mad old woman to assault me to get matters to court.
The real problem is two-fold. First, police have inadequate powers to deal with breaches of the peace that keep repeating, and second that a whole flux of squalid false complaining, threats and other matters obscure the cases that lead to severe violence and murder. Other matters, including police incompetence, make this worse. Over-arching this is a fatal nexus in this country of denial and exploitation of the real issues by the relevant authorities, including politicians. Their performance management may as well be theatre, for it is not concerned with doing a better job on the problems, but in making personal capital out of them (from lawyers taking actual coin to politicians votes). Closure is often brought about by claims to be ‘learning lessons’, but we never get to know just how these have been learned, just of the ‘next Baby P’ or ‘death in Essex’.
A key technical problem in dealing with these matters is ‘stereotyping’ – a word we hear but rarely understand – not least in that we all do it and can’t be rid of it. This is one of the reasons for the dire ‘diversity management’ that makes most who have to suffer it suspect whoever organised it of racial bias against ‘ordinary white folk’. One could re-write Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin these days to discover the vile ‘nigger references’ in polite society merely transferred to other groups not considered quite human. What many politicians, judges, lawyers and senior people can’t get is that they stereotype as surely as those put up to demonstrate the puerility of racism by Harriet. Some of Gadget’s contributors may well think Harriet Harmon wrote the book (me stereotyping them if you get the drift).
You can’t stop people stereotyping – it’s a form of learning. Cops learn what works and what doesn’t in their own culture just as surely as lawyers learn what pays them, or evil poor what works in their culture. Academics stereotype themselves into postmodern essays as surely as Finn the Burglar slips your television under his arm. My domestic calls were well into the hundreds before someone died, I had never taken anyone to court other than for assault on me, and I’d heard a couple of dozen death threats.
I can arrange for you to hear death threats if you are prepared to do a few weeks of rough drinking with me. I won’t be able to hack the pace, but we’ll find what I mean. First we have to find some Hillbillies in some number and a bad mood. It’s advisable to ignore sex offers with jocularity. Enough drink inside (you may have trouble holding yours there) and they’ll get ‘talking family’ – don’t expect cute pictures. Soon one of them will be threatening to ‘do’ some boyfriend or shagger rival. It may even get real in front of us until the landlord does his work. It’s often one of these people who need protection.
In my old case, the victim was a ‘fragrant women’. She had moved well away from the ex-husband – which most Hillbillies can’t. There was an injunction (useless as he was just released when we nicked him). We did take it seriously, sadly because she was so middle class. She was killed on another shift. He gave himself up, armed with a shotgun, at my house. He’d threatened to ‘do’ me and at least found my address. Instead he was on my front lawn, with the barrel in his mouth. I was ex-NI by then and didn’t answer the door, I leaned out of a bedroom window.
What we need, rather than all the defensive stuff about how the hell we are supposed to sort the wheat from the chaff (which still needs to be said), is the ‘technology’ to do the job as right as it can be done. This would have to be a kind of public scrutiny we don’t have at all. First of all, we have to stop blaming the system as though we aren’t part of it and actually form a worthwhile public.
We need to realise that what investigations there are into our CJS are not bringing results in terms of real change. The underlying key is secrecy. What we need to know is how current serious problems are being dealt with and the problems found in doing this, not reviews around dead people. One can see problems in this, but I can see ways of doing it that maintain confidentiality as we need it. If, incidentally, cops and other agencies were really concerned to learn the real lessons, then we’d find them discussing cases in which they’d failed with victims who haven’t died. They don’t. This hasn’t happened with my partner and I or any of the other 50-odd cases of victims who have been in touch with me. Our case fortunately (for us) continues without us in it, a young boy and his two sisters ruined and a family fortunate not to have been burned to death. No one in the other cases has had resolution without having to move. These are just people peripheral to the actual DV, often associated with crime and anti-social behaviour of other kinds.
A mother-in-law joke shared with my local inspector (fortunately Gadget-like), that we’d have been better off if I’d killed my neighbours and done the time (ridiculously true) was taken as such. Such is the defensive hostility of many of the agencies who should do the job towards victims who complain they don’t, they are more likely to treat such matters seriously than spot what needs to be done. No one was at fault over the death 30 years ago, but I suspect the reasons in Essex will not be so different. Reasonable law would have prevented the deaths, we just don’t have any. I’m guessing on Essex, but other cases from 30 years ago, despite all the changes, would be indistinguishable from today’s. This hardly suggests ‘lessons learned’ other than in bureaucratic excuse rhetoric. We may as well hope, as I’m sure Hog doesn’t, for the arrival of Caribbean truncheons applied to all parties. I’d have taken this if it had stopped the vile parties next door.