Sunday, 7 December 2008

TELEGRAPH   6.12.08
  Damian Green arrest shows police is loyal to their political masters
By Philip Johnston

When three police officers came knocking at Brett Duxfield's door at 
8am, he could not imagine what he had done wrong. The 39-year-old 
Hartlepool lorry driver was arrested, taken to the police station, 
questioned and kept in the cells for 10 hours. His alleged crime? 
Lighting a bonfire on the village green in Elwick, where he used to 
live. On Bonfire Night.


It turned out that this breached an ancient, but recently revived, by-
law. So he was charged with arson, for which the maximum penalty is 
life in prison.

This kind of disproportionate reaction is becoming something of a 
habit for the police. When Inspector Tony Green, of Cleveland Police, 
announced, "We are duty-bound to follow a complaint through", he was 
using almost exactly the same words as the Metropolitan Police did to 
justify arresting Damian Green, the Tories' front-bench spokesman on 
immigration, as well as searching his offices, seizing his computer, 
rifling through his private papers and freezing his email account.

Since when were the police "duty-bound" to behave like this? In what 
way does "following a complaint through" require three police 
officers to arrest someone who may have acted anti-socially, detain 
him for 10 hours and charge him with an offence that was once a 
capital crime?

Or a dozen more, attached to the anti-terrorist command, to invade 
the offices and property of an MP - or anyone else - without 
obtaining a warrant, in the investigation of what was pretty 
obviously a disciplinary rather than a criminal matter?
Sir Paul Stephenson, the acting commissioner of the Met, claims: "The 
police must be able to act without fear or favour in any 
investigation, whomsoever may be involved, where there are reasonable 
grounds to suspect they may have committed criminal offences."

But that is not the point. It is not why they acted, but how they 
acted. The police now promote a relatively new doctrine: that when 
they are engaged in an investigation, they have the absolute freedom 
to do as they see fit and pursue it to the bitter end, provided that 
it is covered by the provisions of the Police and Criminal Evidence 
Act 1984.

Like the rest of the public sector, they are governed entirely by 
procedure, with no room for discretion - or common sense.
To some extent, of course, they must follow that path, because to 
stray is to risk having a case thrown out. One reason that the Pace 
(Police and Criminal Evidence) Act was introduced was that the police 
used not to follow any rules at all.

In the late Seventies and early Eighties, there was a series of 
scandals involving the alleged fabrication of evidence against 
criminals and terrorists, a problem compounded by the fact that 
police officers acted as prosecutors in magistrates' courts and 
framed the charges against suspects.

The objective of Pace, according to the Home Office, was "to 
encourage effective policing with the consent and co-operation of 
society at large". Yet far from reconnecting the police with the 
community, it has served, along with the creation of a culture based 
on targets rather than crime-stopping, to alienate the police from 
the people they now refer to as "customers".

Why, if there are more officers than ever, do we feel we hardly ever 
see them on the streets? Why are police stations too far away, closed 
at night or shut down altogether? Why, when the police tell 
householders not to tackle burglars, but to dial 999 and await the 
officers' arrival, are they are greeted with a hollow laugh?

An institution that a few years ago was held in public esteem is now 
derided, even feared. There is a feeling that the police are not on 
our side. And this is largely the fault of some of the country's most 
prominent senior officers.

Sir Ian Blair, the recently retired commissioner of the Metropolitan 
Police, personified the type that has risen through the ranks since 
the Seventies: he - and very often, she - is usually university-
educated or with a degree in law or criminology obtained after 
joining the force. He or she is also far more political (as well as 
politically correct).

Police chiefs have supported every encroachment on civil liberties: 
the expansion of the DNA database to include innocent people, ruled 
unlawful this week by the European Court of Human Rights; the 
increase of detention without charge to 90 days and then, when that 
was rejected, to 42 days, despite clear parliamentary opposition; the 
extension of summary powers to arrest and fine on the spot; bans on 
happy hours, ID cards and many more.

It is commonplace at Home Office press conferences to find a senior 
police officer adding his imprimatur to a policy announcement. This 
would once have been unheard of: the police are there to uphold the 
laws passed by Parliament, not to act as an arm of the Government.

But the demands on forces are such that chief officers see themselves 
more as executives, running large organisations that have the Home 
Office as their primary client. Critics believe this rewards caution 
and conformity.

Senior officers even feel emboldened to join in the political debate. 
As the Damian Green affair unfolded this week, Ken Jones, the 
president of the Association of Chief Police Officers, said his 
colleagues shared the Home Office's concern about leaks from the 
department.
"The police service always strives to operate in the broader public 
interest, and not in the interests of any political party, group or 
government. This is an increasingly difficult task for the service, 
but it is not one we will shirk."

Why did Mr Jones feel it necessary to intervene in a constitutional 
matter that was none of his business? And why has it become 
"increasingly difficult" to act in the wider public interest?

One police chief believes officers are trapped between a welter of 
centralised political initiatives and unrealistic public 
expectations. "It is easy to blame the police," he says, "and 
sometimes we get it wrong. But there is a wider problem of change, 
and unrealistic and insatiable expectations."

There are some who believe that what the police need is not less 
political control, but more - and for it to be local. Douglas 
Carswell, the Tory MP for Harwich and Clacton, has proposed the 
creation of a network of directly elected Justice Commissioners, who 
would determine policing priorities for every county and large town 
in England and Wales.

Home Office targets would be scrapped, and it would be up to each 
commissioner to set priorities.

"The public are losing confidence in the criminal justice system," 
says Mr Carswell. "Even the Government's own advisers now recognise 
that people no longer feel that the criminal justice system is on 
their side. Imagine if you could determine the priorities of the 
police where you live, and hold your local police chiefs to account."

Whatever the merits of this proposal, there is a growing consensus - 
to which many officers subscribe - that the police have lost their 
way, and that a serious look is needed at how they operate and what 
is expected of them. The British tradition is of policing with 
consent; if the public fear or despise their protectors, that will be 
damaged.

In a lecture last year, Sir Ian Blair claimed the country had to be 
clear about what it wants from the police - to fight crime, or fight 
its causes; to help build stronger communities, or to undertake zero 
tolerance?
"The silence can no longer continue," he said. "The citizens of 
Britain now have to articulate what kind of police service they 
want." For once, he was right.

The last big debate on policing was in 1960, when a Royal Commission 
recommended the structure with which we are familiar today. Perhaps 
it is time for another.