The Metropolitan Police
I USUALLY have a lot of respect for the police.
I think it is a brave decision to take on a job in which you fight against the dregs of society and enforce the law so that respectable citizens of this country can get on with their lives.
Being a police officer can’t be an easy job, especially when you’ve got criminals determined to flout the law and go to extreme measures which include violence and intimidation.
And I have always had a positive experience of my time with police officers and will defend their actions to those of my acquaintances who have a certain distaste for the po-po.
That was until I went to London for the Notting Hill Carnival.
Now I can fully appreciate that it is not your typical every day experience, with more than two million people passing through the West London district over the two-day event.
With the carnival having a reputation for attracting troublemakers, the Metropolitan Police have the difficult task of bringing in extra resources to cope with the demand.
And I can imagine that many officers must dread being given their rota for the August bank holiday to see they have been positioned in the most crazy of sound systems.
But for the majority of visitors it is a celebration of music and diversity, and gives people the chance to get together for a massive street party.
And as a result, I do expect the police to offer assistance to those who generally need their help.
After all that is their job.
I got caught up in the middle of a stampede through one street and had blood pouring down my foot after stepping onto a glass bottle when my shoe got temporarily lost among the crowd.
Now I’m not a wuss and it didn’t particularly hurt, so all I needed was a bit of tissue and a plaster to sort out the wound before I could head back to my favourite party spot.
The scene reminded me of The Good Samaritan Bible story because three police officers failed to help me out, despite asking for their assistance and showing them my injury.
“Oh there is a first aider somewhere around,” said one while walking off in the opposite direction.
“Walk down there and I’m sure you’ll find something,” said another.
It took a kind girl with a box of wipes and a tattooist with a plaster before I was safely strapped up and could rejoin the carnival.
But that wasn’t what particularly bothered me.
What really riled me up was seeing a group of four lads run up to an officer who was policing one sound system to inform him that a fight had broke out nearby.
“Nothing to do with us,” he said. “It’s the security’s job to deal with that.
“We only step in if something serious happens.”
I thought he was joking. But he basically explained that unless someone got shot or stabbed the police were staying out of it.
I was completely baffled.
By not stepping in at the earliest opportunity, the violence was only going to escalate.
If gang members know that the police aren’t going to step in when the fists are being thrown, then they won’t hesitate to take it to the next level and bring out the guns and knives.
And while I don’t expect the police to take unnecessary risks, what I do expect is for them to use their skills to stop trouble at the earliest opportunity and help those who ask for it.
If they fail to do that then they may as well have not be there at all.
An unwilling policeman is about as much use as an absent one.
