Brush with Police

An incident yesterday prompted me to reflect on my interactions with Police over the years, so here I go.

My first brush with Police came in 1961, I was seven years old.  My father will walk me to school (Bambalapitiya Hindu) in the morning; I will hold his hands and cross a main road (Galle Road).  My school finished around 3 pm, I will walk to the main road, wait at the pedestrian crossing, a police officer will hold my hand and help me cross the road.  I will then find my way home (17 Castle Lane, Bambalapitiya) and narrate the details to my mother – how smart the police man looked and how kind he was and so on - a new Police Uncle every day, and my mother will smile at my innocence.

In 1970, now I am a teenager, I happened to be in Jaffna Town around twilight hours on a bicycle, finding my way home.  It was not dark yet, but my bicycle did not have a ‘head light’.  I was stopped at a make-shift Police barricade, detained for a couple of hours, many more joined, at around 8 pm, all bicycles were loaded into a truck, so were we.  We were at Jaffna Police Station, told to squat on the floor, till cases were filed.  When my turn came it was almost midnight, and I was allowed to go home.  Our house was about 5 km from the Police station, I literally ran fearing the dogs which may chase and possibly bite me.  I had to go next day to collect my bicycle, and two days later, a local Magistrate dismissed the case.

In 1977, I was in Jaffna during University vacation, a friend of mine and I went for a late movie which finished just after midnight.  We went to a tea boutique, had a cup of tea, and were at the counter paying our dues.  A Police jeep stopped in front of the tea boutique, and an officer walked towards me.  I thought he was going to ask me for something, instead he slapped me strong and hard.  Another one did the same to my friend.  We just RAN………..

In 1981 summer, I was staying in a trailer home at Weslaco, Texas, a town in Texas along Mexican border.  Around 8 pm or so, I went to throw garbage, without taking the key to the trailer home.  A strong wind shut the door, and now I can’t get in.  I asked my neighbor to call the site manager.  Instead, he walked to my house, took a credit card, slid it between the door and door-frame, lo and behold, the door opened.  He then said that, he is a Police officer and he had to know everything the burglars know.  We had a laugh, he has never met a Sri Lankan, and we became friendly. 

In 1985, I was charged by a Police officer in Houston for exceeding speed limit at a school zone, and the fine was 80 USD.  It was a big amount in 1985, for a graduate student especially.  I pleaded him to cancel my ticket.  He advised me that I could appeal to the local Magistrate, which I did.  The Magistrate agreed to cancel the ticket, if I attend a defensive driving course run by the Police.  It cost me 20 USD, and eight hours of listening to lectures and watching videos.  It was well worth, getting the ticket, and then attending the course.  I still remember the lessons I learned.

In 1987, I was stopped by a highway trouper between Dallas and Fayetville.  He said I was doing 65 MPH in a zone for 55 MPH.  I said no, it can’t be right, he was half convinced, walked around the car and noted that my tire size was somewhat bigger than what it ought to be.  Hence I was travelling at 65, but my speedo meter was registering 55.  He said he will give me a warning, and I should change the tire soon. Phew….

In early nineties, my wife and I lived in Griffith, a sleepy country town in New South Wales, Australia.  Around 2 AM someone knocked on our doors, we woke up, and opened, to see there were two young cops.  We haven’t closed our car door properly, the internal light was on, and noticed by the patrolling officers.  They shut it, and then woke us to tell – which they are required to.  Thanks, but, they could have shut the door and left.  There was a smug on their face, which told us – we are just having fun waking you up.  It’s OK with us too.

Between 1996 and now, either I or my drivers had to pay bribes in Lahore, Madras, Patna or Delhi for traffic violations.  Police in this part take advantage of traffic violators to get rich.  I have become used to them.  When they approach me, I think of beggars in Police uniform.

It was the event yesterday, which brought all these memories.  I was in Little India, a part of Kuala Lumpur, hailing a taxi.  It was just after a shower, I was a bit wet.  A new white car went passed me and stopped.  The man at the passenger seat called me, and I assumed that he was going to offer me a lift. 

Well, I was wrong.

He introduced himself as a Police Officer –did not show any ID, and he and his driver were both in mufti.  I worked it out that the passenger must be a Senior Officer, because the driver was not joining the conversation, but gleaming in pride at the way the passenger was talking to me.  He was trying hard not to look at us.

The passenger asked me what I was doing.  ‘Hailing a cab’, I replied.

‘Where is your passport?’  ‘It’s in the hotel, but here is the ID given by the Hotel’.

He looked at it and then said that I should have made a photocopy of my passport and visa pages, and carried with me.  I said sorry.

Interrogation continued.

‘Are you carrying any drugs?’  ‘No, I do not even smoke’, I said wryly.

‘Well if you cooperate, I will make it easy for you’.  Now it’s a threat, and he showing the ugly face of Police. ‘Come near’, he was still in his passenger seat, so, I walked closer to him. 

‘Empty your pocket’.  I had a camera, a phone, a wallet, and a handkerchief.  All pockets were bulging.  He went through my wallet a few times. I had an equivalent of 100 USD in Ringgits.  Then frisked by tummy and moved his hands to my abdomen area, while sitting on his passenger seat.  This was on a public road at 5:30 PM in full day light.

‘You are embarrassing me, I am a Professor’, I said assertively.  He returned my stuff, and left.

So, what do I make of Police in my life?  Overall, only a few do their duty, I think.  They were good – like the men who helped me cross the road, I respect them.  Most are bad, like the uniformed beggars in Indian sub-continent.  There is no difference between them and criminals.  I pity them.  Some are real ugly.  The guy who slapped me and the one who embarrassed on KL streets – very ugly, I reckon.  I detest them.  They have a sick mind, and abuse their power, because they know that they will get away. 

I hope they do not.