The article by the police commander who warns that cops might just decide that remaining on the job isn’t worth the abuse attracted a lot of readers very quickly. That’s a good sign; so are the results of the poll so far, in which over 90% have voted that either the warning ought to be taken seriously, or that his reaction is rational under the circumstances.
Don’t ask me about the two votes for not having any police. Maybe ex-anarchist commenter Fattymoon dropped by with a friend.
Here is Alicia (aka La Sylphide) ‘s very personal Comment of the Day on the post, “A Cop’s Lament…and Threat (Plus A Poll)“:
I know that what I offer here is anecdotal (and therefore criticized by some).
What this officer writes breaks my heart. I know my ex (a retired police sergeant) very well. We were married 24 years. I know his heart. I know the work he did. I know the programs he created and implemented starting from a place of nothing. I know the fellow police families we hung with and I know their hearts; the work they did, the neighborhoods they worked so hard with which to build trust, the tears they shed over lives they couldn’t save, the elderly they comforted, the bikes they fixed because the chain had come off, the calm they restored in the ER when bad news was delivered. This is my experience having been a police wife.
I also work as an actress in crisis intervention training; helping departments train their officers in how to handle members of the community who are in the midst of a mental health crisis. I see their faces when they look into my eyes while I rant and rave and cuss them out. I see their faces when they look to their fellow officers for help because they so desperately want to make the situation right. They want to learn, they want to be better, they want to be there for their community.
Are some officers cut from a different cloth? Yes – and for both good and bad. One night, my husband told me he was going to be late. There was a sniper on a roof top taking shots at civilians on the street. He came home later that evening to tell me that one of the SWAT guys had taken out the sniper. Shot from a building across the way, the sniper was found dead on the hotel floor, a cigarette still smoldering in his mouth. There was a part of me that was mortified. How could the SWAT guy calmly ride the elevator in the building across the parking lot, fully outfitted in SWAT gear, ready to take aim, knowing full well what he had to do? He knew he was about to take a life. How does one do that?!? How?? I’m not made from that cloth. But this officer was. And thank God.
Not too long after taking out a deadly threat, I’m sure that officer was back on the street helping a six year old with his bike because the chain had come off. (And before some people come in here and tell me it’s sentimentalism, I watched just a thing happen.)