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The challenge of adapting to Island RCMP life

In 1989, near the end of a long and varied policing career, Ian Parsons arrived on Vancouver Island to assume the post of second in command of the Courtenay RCMP subdivision.

In 1989, near the end of a long and varied policing career, Ian Parsons arrived on Vancouver Island to assume the post of second in command of the Courtenay RCMP subdivision. As revealed in this excerpt from No Easy Ride, his candidly written memoir of life in the force, the new job would challenge him in ways he could never have imagined.

 

The Courtenay subdivision was a mammoth operation consisting of 350 personnel, 16 detachments, a number of plainclothes units, a dog section and a helicopter. To round out the complement, two 60-foot patrol vessels, which could be used as floating detachments when needed, were strategically placed on each side of Vancouver Island. Police personnel who arrive in British Columbia after serving in other parts of Canada experience what can only be described as culture shock.

The intensity and complexity of police operations in Canada’s westernmost province cannot be compared to any other RCMP operation. Members serving in all but B.C.’s most isolated detachments encounter a much greater intensity of crime. Consequently, employee burnout and stress-related problems in B.C. far exceed those experienced in other provinces.

Due to my experience working in rural detachments in other parts of Canada, I expected to take a hands-on role. When a relatively serious event occurs after-hours in most places in rural Canada, the detachment commander is roused and advised. The first priority of the investigating member is to inform the man in charge. Consequently, my instructions to members had always been to call and advise, day or night.

Reaching out from a deep sleep to grope for a ringing phone was part of the job. The officer commanding in Courtenay subdivision also had a prairie policing background and felt he should be told about serious incidents. It was clearly a shock to us when we arrived at our office on a Monday morning to discover there had been murders, rapes, assaults and an assortment of additional serious offences that we were unaware of.

During the acculturation process, our senior NCOs assured us that this was the way things were done in B.C. Many larger detachments had their own serious-crime, identification and police-dog units, enabling them to act autonomously. The sheer volume of crime precluded advising subdivision unless unique circumstances compelled additional resources. Initially, the approach was unsettling, but it quickly became evident that matters were handled quite differently in British Columbia, and the mechanisms of handling heavy crime loads were tried and true.

North and central Vancouver Island are home to a rich tapestry of First Nations, many of which have occupied the same locations for thousands of years. Their cultures — customs, art and traditions — were complex, sophisticated and deeply enhanced by the permanence of their settlements, the abundance of local food and moderate temperatures. This contrasted with the lifestyles of First Nations of the Prairies whom I had formerly worked with, who had been nomadic by necessity.

At the time I arrived, RCMP members had inadequate cultural awareness of native peoples, and communication with them was poor. In fact, Bob Gillen, the senior Crown prosecutor based in Victoria, was so concerned about how the aboriginal community in northern Vancouver Island regarded the justice system that he proposed a committee to study the issue.

The committee included Gillen, a provincial judge, representatives from social services and probation, and me, as RCMP representative. Our mission was to travel to various native communities to conduct town hall-style meetings. One of the first meetings occurred on Cormorant Island, where the village of Alert Bay is situated.

Our committee assembled in the local band hall, filled to capacity with villagers. I sensed quickly that the mood in the hall was less than hospitable. Shortly after Gillen introduced our panel, participants became vocal and abusive, and the meeting seemed on the brink of pandemonium.

Just when I began to contemplate how I was going to safely extract the visiting dignitaries, a powerful-looking aboriginal man in the front row stood up and roared: “Quiet!” Obviously, this individual carried considerable influence with the citizens, as the noise quickly subsided.

He addressed the throng, reminding them that the committee had come to the community to hear their concerns. He told the audience that he understood their frustrations, but there was no point in attacking those who were trying to resolve some of the problems. When he concluded, the audience took a more civil approach, though many complaints and concerns regarding the justice system were vented.

 

I learned that our saviour was Bill Wilson, a noted Vancouver Island aboriginal leader and practising lawyer. Bill and I crossed paths many times in the years to follow, and we became friends. His sometimes surly reputation was well-earned. He opened an address to members of the B.C. Bar Association in Vancouver by stating: “We should have killed you all!”

Such statements certainly rewarded him with rapt attention from his listeners but also attracted negative publicity. I never knew him as an adversary, and he was always a positive mentor to me in my dealings with aboriginal people.

Native leaders on Vancouver Island made it clear that they harboured much residual bitterness as a result of mistakes made by governments of years past. Native residential schools and the suppression of the potlatch and other cultural practices stood at the top of the list of grievances. During a session that included RCMP members and First Nations people, I made the error of encouraging the native participants not to look back, but to look forward and guide us in how we could improve our service to them.

Basil Amber, a powerful presence and respected elder, rose up and bellowed his disagreement. In no uncertain terms, he instructed me to listen and not tell the people what I wanted them to do. I quickly concluded that it was not a good time to debate the issue, so we listened for hours about the injustices and cruelty foisted on aboriginal peoples by white society in years past.

Every session started in a similar fashion, and during breaks, members would come and ask me why we had to listen to tales of long ago. I told them to be patient. Even though they were initially defensive, the members learned much about First Nations culture and developed empathy for what these people had suffered.

As each three-day session progressed, it moved into discussions of what police could now do to improve relations. The members’ willingness to sit and hear grievances was exactly what was needed. The sessions concluded with a wonderful traditional feast put on by the band. Many RCMP members, spouses and children participated and left with changed attitudes and a much greater understanding of First Nations people and culture.

Yet despite all the steps taken to improve the RCMP’s attitude toward native people, I was troubled to see that some senior personnel still harboured prejudice and dislike for them. No amount of positive interaction with native people seemed to change their entrenched opinions.

Even with my long experience with First Nations, both in the field and in the classroom, I had more to learn. While formulating course material, I commented to some members of a North Island nation that another nation to the south and west of them had introduced a series of cross-cultural experiences for the police that had been very successful.

Sensing a cool reception, I asked one of the elders why my suggestion was not looked upon with favour. The elder told me that the group I mentioned was traditionally an enemy of the northern people, and communication between the two groups was minimal. Any suggestion that ideas from the south be implemented was clearly inappropriate.

The following day, I made amends and assured them that adopting ideas from other groups would not be an option. This seemed to satisfy the participants, and we went on to design a course almost identical to the one being employed to the south.

My travels to meet with First Nations people or visit outlying detachments took me to many locations in northern Vancouver Island and the adjacent smaller islands — surely the most spectacular setting in all of Canada, if not North America. Many of our detachments were located on coastal islands or on the edge of remote areas of the mainland that could be reached only by ferry or helicopter.

I had purchased a cruising boat for my own enjoyment, and would occasionally use it to travel to detachments, where I conducted inspections and interviewed members. Travelling in this manner also allowed me to visit isolated villages and evaluate community satisfaction with the RCMP. During my off-duty time, I often went salmon fishing.

After five years’ travelling and savouring the flavours of Vancouver Island, I decided to conclude my long and satisfying career. The force had presented me with several tempting offers of promotion and relocation, but after reaching Vancouver Island at the most appropriate stage of my career, I had no intention of further uprooting Lynne, who had just completed her master’s degree in nursing and was on the faculty of a local college, or Lynne’s son, Adam, who was just completing high school.

There was nothing more I wished to accomplish as a member of the force. I had loved the ride and was ready to savour whatever was left. There were fond adieus but no sad farewells as I stepped out of harness into the next stage of my life.

Excerpted from No Easy Ride: Reflections on My Life in the RCMP, © Ian T. Parsons, 2013. Heritage House, heritagehouse.ca