OPINION: Keeping the Peace of Over-Policing?

Courtesy TheMarkNews.com

Is there such thing as “over-policing?” If there is, I have witnessed it. As I was sitting by University Avenue in Toronto, I watched the spectacle of the police preparation to control the Native Rights March protesting the G20. Behind Queen’s Park, two dozens vans of various colours packed with police officers were parked. Two flocks of 12 police cyclists raced around the bend. Groups of 10 men and women in blue were standing at corners close to the subway exits. And there were the two police wagons close to where I was, with their engines kept running. I guess in real emergencies, there is no time to start your car.

Are we feeling safer or more frightened? Empowered to speak against injustices or simply overpowered? There used to be a time when we were encouraged to care … about people or political causes, when being politically active was a good thing, when taking a stand for or against something was better than sitting in front of a TV. Where has democracy gone? There were almost more police officers with more gear for the Native Rights Watch than there were demonstrators. The display of all the men and women in blue reminded me of what the stereotypical pictures of the Soviet Union looked like: a display of authority at every corner. Beware, you may have done something wrong!

Indeed, I got a little frightened that I could be searched after seven police officers stopped a young man, asking him whether he was going to the protest, he mumbled, they took his backpack and opened it, he reacted, they told him they search everyone going to the protest with a backpack (which, by the way, is not the state of the law in Canada). He gave them the backpack, three girls stopped to ask: “Are you OK?” He said: “I think so…” Other police officers arrived; there were about nine of them now. One told the girls to move away, another suggested that the search be done without blocking the sidewalk. I decided to take notes.

They moved the “suspect” three metres away from the street, close to the still-running engines of the police wagons. They did not seem to find anything worth keeping in the backpack except an empty bottle, which they confiscated (I hope they recycled it). They search the man: he was wearing a hoodie, which he removed. The police officer patted his back, lifted his T-shirt , then his undershirt, raised his shorts, thankfully they did not touch the genital area. He kept his arms above his head and seemed a little bewildered. During that time, they were asking questions: name, address. He responded. He had pills and a cell phone in his pocket. They gave these back to him. Then, nothing, they let him go. He walked away. The girls were waiting for him. They asked: “Why did they stop you?” He answered: “My looks, I guess…” He was black, dressed in black.

My stomach churned: maybe they had a good reason, or maybe they were genuinely mistaken; in my heart I hoped so. But for everyone there, the image was set. I thought or hoped that I would be next, I had a backpack too. But I am a middle aged white woman with a skirt. I picked up my note pad and left, wondering about over-policing, civil liberties, and what we have become, more concerned about order than peace and justice.

The Mark News is Canada’s online forum for opinion and analysis.