by Sam the Man 55 Replies latest jw friends
Nothing against the police in general, they havent done anything particularly bad to me personally however I do hate lawyers and such hatred is justified lol
Of course I am joking...cant understand why anyone would hate anyone to be honest..lifes too short...or didnt your JW experience teach you anything
Honestly I view police like pit bulls. Some are good, some are bad, but all are potentially dangerous.
So come on then, tell me what you think would happen if they disbanded tomorrow?
So come on then, tell me what you think would happen if they disbanded tomorrow?
New Orleans....
While we are on the topic, what do you think to military police joing regulars out on patrol controlling the drunks now the new liscensing laws have come in?
They are a controlled but dangerous group of men and women.
We need police to do the dirty work of arresting the bad element of society and bring them to justice.
But to be ignorant of the power and abuse of power that police can sucuumb to would be sadly naive and could lead to personal unhappiness at their hands.
They are dangerous but necessary.
You may find this interesting, I did..
Confessions From a Beat Cop
My name is Jill and I am a cop. That means that the pains and joys of my personal life are often muted by my work. I resent the intrusion but I confuse my self with my job almost as often as you do. The label "police officer" creates a false image of who I really am. Sometimes I feel like I'm floating between two worlds. My work is not just protecting and serving. It's preserving that buffer that exists in the space between what you think the world is, and what the world really is.
My job isn't like television. The action is less frequent, and more graphic. It is not exhilarating to point a gun at someone. Pooled blood has a disgusting metallic smell and steams a little when the temperature drops. CPR isn't an instant miracle and it's no fun listening to an elderly grandmother's ribs break while I keep her heart beating. I'm not flattered by your curiosity about my work. I don't keep a record of which incident was the most frightening, or the strangest, or the bloodiest, or even the funniest. I don't tell you about my day because I don't want to share the images that haunt me.
But I do have some confessions to make:
Sometimes my stereo is too loud. Andrea Boccelli's voice makes it easier to forget the wasted body of the young man who died alone in a rented room because his family feared the stigma of AIDS. Beethoven's 9th symphony erases the sight of the nurses who sobbed as they scrubbed layers of dirt and slime from a neglected 2-year-old's skin. The Rolling Stones' angry beat assures me that it was ignorance that drove a young mother to draw blood when she bit her toddler on the cheek in an attempt to teach him not to bite.
Sometimes I set a bad example. I exceeded the speed limit on my way home from work because I had trouble shedding the adrenalin that kicked in when I discovered that the man I handcuffed during a drug raid was sitting on a loaded 9mm pistol.
Sometimes I seem rude. I was distracted and forgot to smile when you greeted me in the store because I was remembering the anguished, whispered confession of a teenager who pushed away his drowning brother to save his own life.
Sometimes I'm not as sympathetic as you'd like. I'm not concerned that your 15-year-old daughter is dating an 18-year-old because I just comforted the parents of a young man who slashed his own throat while they slept in the next bedroom. I was terse on the phone because I resented the burden of having to weigh the value of two lives when I was pointing my gun at an armed man who kept begging me to kill him. I laugh when you cringe away from the mess in your teen's room because I know the revulsion of feeling a heroin addict's blood trickling toward an open cut on my arm. If I was silent when you whined about your overbearing mother it's because I really wanted to tell you that I spoke to one of our high school friends today. I found her mother slumped behind the wheel of her car in a tightly closed garage. She had dressed in her best outfit before rolling down the windows and starting the engine.
On the other hand, if I seem totally oblivious to the blood on my uniform, or the names people call me, or the hateful editorials, it's because I am remembering the lessons my job has taught me.
I learned not to sweat the small stuff. Grape juice on the beige sofa and puppy pee on the oriental carpet don't faze me because I know what arterial bleeding and decaying bodies can do to one's decor.
I learned when to shut out the world and take a mental health day. I skipped your daughter's 4th birthday party because I was thinking about the six children under the age of 10 whose mother left them unattended to go out with a friend. When the 3-year-old offered the dog the milk from her cereal bowl, the dog attacked her, tearing open her head and staining the sandbox with blood. The little girl's siblings had to pry her head out of the dog's jaws - twice.
I learned that everyone has a lesson to teach me. Two mothers engaged in custody battles taught me not to judge a book by its cover. The teenage mother on welfare mustered the strength to refrain from crying in front of her worried child while the well-dressed, upper-class mother literally played tug of war with her toddler before running into traffic with the shrieking child in her arms.
I learned that nothing given from the heart is truly gone. A hug, a smile, a reassuring word, or an attentive ear can bring an injured or distraught person back to the surface, and help me refocus.
And I learned not to give up EVER! That split second of terror when I think I have finally engaged the one who is young enough and strong enough to take me down taught me that I have only one restriction: my own mortality.
One week in May has been set aside as Police Memorial Week, a time to remember those officers who didn't make it home after their shift. But why wait? Take a moment to tell an officer that you appreciate her work. Smile and say "Hi" when he's getting coffee. Bite your tongue when you start to tell a "bad cop" story. Better yet, find the time to tell a "good cop" story. The family at the next table may be a cop's family.
Nothing given from the heart is truly gone. It is kept in the hearts of the recipients. Give from the heart. Give something back to the officers who risk everything they have.
by Jill Wragg, retired police officer
Thanks for your responses. Sorry I work long days and since last night have been unable to return to the board. The reason for asking is that there seems to be an increasing of hatred towards the police in the UK, as it slowly evolves into a Police State. You get hammered for everything, and the boys in blue are there but only when it suits them. I'll give you an example, the other day I reported a crime and the filth wanted to know more about me than about the people committing the crime. Its the same with motorists... we get hammered left, right and center. Traffic cops are the worst kind of scum. And isnt it funny how the coppers hate it when one of their own gets killed but when its an ordinary guy they dont give a shit? This is Blairs Britain. Maybe the death of that policewoman gunned down is JUST AS BAD as the death of every innocent pedestrian that the police have killed behind the wheel (there has been a 40% rise in Police caused traffic deaths since last year) And then an elderly gentleman down the road from me had a knock on his door by the filth over the weekend and they wanted to check his emmission levels, he let them, his levels were ok, so they done him on low tyre pressure instead. Scum of the earth in my book.
I find your comments quite offensive Sam, do me a favour, when your beaten unconscious by a heroin fuled mugger or you return home from work to find some young thug helping himself to your tv, don't call 999, the 'filth' as you put it might want to ask some questions to help with their investigation.
Regarding your comments about the poor WPC murdered in Bradford, yes, the police do look after there own, well its not as if anyone else will is it.
For your information Ellie before my hatred of the Police I was beaten senseless by somebody and let me tell you something the Police didnt lift a finger to help me. And as for calling 999 when somebody is in my house, you obviously didnt read the report on that pensioner who called 999 when a scumbag was in her house and you know what? They turned up ONE HOUR later. A friend of mine was being robbed, he called the police, they said that they would be there 'when they can'. Then he rang again, and said he had shot the intruder. You know something? They were round in 2 minutes flat. And dont even get me started on the amount of times I see the filth put the sirens on to get through the traffic on their way back to the station (and I live near the station and walk my dog and see this with my own eyes) But sure, not all coppers are bad, but the majority are bloody idiots.
