These are only some of the school shootings that have resulted in nationwide changes to how law enforcement trains for an ‘active shooter‘.

During training, officers are armed with simunition (little paint bullets fired through the officer’s own gun) and go into a building or an area to find and stop the ‘shooter’.   A loud audio recording of gunshots, screaming and chaos increases the intensity, and the best scenarios utilize actors to portray the injured and the dead.

The training is realistic and stressful.

It’s one thing to think you can hunt down a killer, but it’s an entirely different thing to go into an unfamiliar building, step over the widening pool of blood spreading around a dead student and continue past those crying and begging for help even as you hear more gunshots in the next hallway.

This is all done to condition officers to better respond when someone is actively shooting and killing people.  It’s not pretty, it’s not for the faint of heart, and it is so, so necessary.  This sort of training is some of the best, and is an extremely important component of an officer’s mental conditioning.

So when we responded to a stabbing at a Vancouver high school last week, where multiple suspects were supposedly still at large, we utilized this training.  The goal was to enter the school and ensure the safety of students and staff, to apprehend the suspects if they were located, and to clear the school of any other related hazards.

PSD Hondo and I were a part of the second team to enter the school, which was locked down in a Code Red (where staff and students lock their doors, draw the blinds and stay away from windows and doors…another action after Columbine).  It was eerie to be searching a completely silent building while knowing there were hundreds of students and dozens of staff locked within its walls.

There were no sounds from the classrooms, no machinery noise from the woodworking or metal shops, and, with the exception of the two police search pods, no movement.

It became clear how frightening the situation must have been for the students as we slowly made our way through the halls.  At first glance, several of the classrooms appeared vacant and it was not until we entered that we realized many classrooms were full of students huddled against walls and hiding behind desks, student who slowly raised raised their heads or their hands in response to our announcement that the police were there.

The auditorium was empty, but there were backpacks, books and binders scattered along a number of seats.  I wondered where the students were as our footfalls echoed across the wooden stage.  The sound was hollow, loud and sort of creepy.  I knew the students were somewhere close by, but they were so quiet.

Then, when we cleared the gym, it was obvious a vigorous class had been interrupted. Boys gym bags, runners and sweatpants lined one wall, while girls satchels, ballet flats and jeans lined another.  There had to be at least three dozen kids somewhere, but where were they?  

We eventually located them, safe and all together with the exception of four boys.  Somehow, the four boys had been separated from the main group and were huddled together in the complete darkness of a little nook.  It would have unnerved me, a police officer, to be stuck in the spot they found themselves.  I can only imagine how frightened they must have been with no locked door between them and whomever the police were searching for, and they were clearly relieved when we found them and reunited them with their class.

The impressive thing was how amazingly calm the teachers were, which is a testament to how much they care about their students.  They had a job to do and they did it.  Kudos to them.  I can only hope my kids teachers have the same strength (and I believe they do…)

Clearing a school takes time, especially when it is a very large one.  Two and half hours after we arrived, we finally called the school clear.

Our training payed forward with dividends and was proof we need to continue and constantly improve what we do to be ready for the inevitable situations we will face.

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“To be prepared for war is one of the most effective means of preserving peace.”

- George Washington

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“Forewarned, forearmed; to be prepared is half the victory.”

- Miguel de Cervantes

I’ve already got it all planned out…a chair, a stanchion, anything to immobilize the guy until on-duty officers arrive.

But I’ve seen the video and still photos from these styles of robberies, and usually, no one does anything.  No one tries to leave to get help, no one slides their phone out to dial 911, no one even takes cover to make themselves less a target.

Of course, the situation is completely different if the suspect is armed, but when he’s waving around a ‘gun’ comprised of his right index finger and thumb?  At least try to get out of his way, and better yet, out of the bank.  Then call 911.

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How is it that a man can run down Cambie Street, past City Hall, screaming and waving a frying pan around at the start of rush hour, and only two people call 911?

The same fellow sprinted into the Cambie and Broadway Skytrain Station, fell down the stairs and cut himself to bloody ribbons.  With frying pan still in hand, he rushed onto the waiting train, which prompted one more call to 911.

The trains were stopped so the fellow could not travel, and he was at the door to the car when my four-legged partner and I showed up.  I called him off the train and an off duty officer helped me take him into custody (thanks, Nancy).

What surprised me most were the people standing next to this guy, who was bloody, sweaty, armed with a stainless steel frying pan and clearly suffering from paranoia.  The man next to him stood with one hand holding the grip bar above his head while his other arm hung at his side, briefcase in hand.  The lady behind him turned away and stuck her nose back in her book, presenting the side of her head as the perfect target for a wayward frying pan, if the fellow were so inclined.

Even after the man was in handcuffs and leaning against a garbage can, a women tried to squeeze herself around the guy’s torso to throw out her coffee cup.  As you can imagine, the guy definitely did not like that.  He jumped and let out a yell, which in turn made my hound bark, which in turn made the coffe-cup woman scurry off with a squeal.

Good riddance, as far as I was concerned – maybe now she will walk with her eyes wide open.

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All I ask is for people to be aware of their surroundings.  If something doesn’t feel right, it probably isn’t.  I’m not asking for impossible acts of bravery, or for you to place yourself at unnecessary risk, or for you to attempt to help in a way you are not capable of.

What I am asking is for you to reconnect to society through personal, situational and environmental awareness.  Unplug your phone (I promise you, the crash of Blackberry’s service is not the end of the world, and there is communication beyond texting, BBM and email) and pay attention!

That means calling 911 is you see something that is not right.  It means removing yourself from a bad situation so you do not become a victim (or a hostage).

It means being aware of where you are, who is around you, and trusting your instincts to keep yourself safe.

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For those of you not familiar with the case, Robert Pickton was convicted in 2007 for the murders of six women from Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside (map).  He was also charged in the murders of twenty more women, all of them from the Downtown Eastside (DTES).

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As a matter of association, I am not at liberty to speak of the investigation or resulting public inquiry.

What I will say, however, is how several of the now missing and murdered women had an impact on my early years in law enforcement.

I knew several of them through working in the Downtown Eastside, and two of them from when I was a correctional officer with the British Columbia Correctional Centre for Women, called BCCW for short (it is now the Burnaby Youth Custody Services Centre).  It is the memories from my time as a guard that remain more true, as I was interacting with these women as they went about the daily routines of prison life vs dealing with them as a result of a 911 call.

Two woman always comes to mind.

One, I last saw when I was walking west in the south lane of the 100 East Hastings St.  She was on a fire escape landing, far above my head.  She watched our progress the same way a rabbit watches the passage of a fox, partially hidden and her face marred by the shadows of wrought iron.

The other woman – it is her face I see most often when talk turns to the pig farm.

I picture her family and her loved ones.  Her friends.  Her laugh.  How she joked at BCWW, calling me ‘Blondie’, telling me sbout her son when it my shift to supervise her unit in the jail.  How, a few years later, once I was on the job and she had her freedom, she saw me on the street out front of the Balmoral Hotel and called out, ‘Hey Blondie! I was wondering what happened to you!’

She was different.  More wary.  Not as friendly.  She was smart, funny and had her wits about her.

She shot me a wink the last time I saw her.

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The stone in my gut when I read her name as a possible murder victim.  I thought of what her family was going through, and pushed the memories away.

“There’s no way she would fall to a serial killer,” I thought, “She’s way too street savvy.”

Then it was confirmed through DNA.

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To her family and loved ones, you know of whom I speak.  You are in my thoughts and prayers, as are the family and loved ones of all the women.

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As with most accidents, if I’m close and not already on a call, I’ll start rolling that way in the event the collision turns into a hit-and-run or one of the drivers flees the scene on foot.  This happens more than you would expect, and the success rate of being one of the first ones to a scene where a suspect has fled pays dividends for a dog handler, so I started rolling towards this one.

I ended being the first one there and found the collision occurred when one driver slammed into several parked cars, flipping his van in the process. On first glance at the van, I observed the following:

• the van was resting on its side
• all the airbags had deployed
• the windshield was completely smashed with a large, body sized hole on the drivers side
• there was no one in the van

My first thought was the driver had been ejected, and I asked a few witnesses if they had seen what happened and if they knew where the driver was.  One witness pointed to a man sitting on the curb.  Thinking I was being pointed towards another witness, I asked the man if he had seen what happened.  He shook his head, saying he was the driver.

When I asked if he was injured, he again shook his head.  Considering the mangled windshield and the damage usually sustained by the human body when ejected from a vehicle, and considering the man appeared to be in shock, I asked if he had been thrown through the window and was met a third head shake.

My brain was trying to figure out why the van’s window was smashed when another man came up to us.  He was jittery from a post-adrenalin rush and his posture was straight and proud.  His words were jumbled-together-quick as he explained he had heard the accident, ran outside and saw the van rolled over onto its side.  He said the driver was “screaming for help” and the van was “full of smoke”.

The man ran back to his house, grabbed an axe, and ran back to the van, where he proceeded to hack away at the windshield, Paul Bunyan style, to free the driver.  Once the windshield had been defeated, he had reached through and cut the driver’s seatbelt off.  The driver crumpled to the ground inside the van, and was yanked out through the broken windshield by his axe-wielding rescuer.

“How big an axe?” I asked.

“It’s right there,” the man said, and pointed to where the full-sized axe was leaning against a fence.

Good Lord.  No wonder the driver was in shock.

The area of the windshield that sustained the majority of the axe strikes was where the driver’s head and upper body would have been as he hung, suspended by his seatbelt.  I suspect I would have been screaming, too.

As for the smoke in the van?  It was a by-product of airbag deployment and not the result of a fire.

The driver was checked by paramedics and was found to have no injuries.  His seatbelt and the airbags in his van did what they were supposed to do.  I left shortly after, so I’m not sure what caused the collision in the first place, but I do know one thing – regardless of how thankful he was for being assisted after the collision, the driver will probably have nightmares about being attacked by an axe-wielding man over the next little while.

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It really was too bad, as the video footage, viewed after they arrived at work and discovered the break-in, showed the crooks had spent more than a few minutes inside making off with all of their loot.  It was more than enough time for police officers to get close enough to have a fighting chance at catching them in the act.

But, as fate would have it, their alarm system had cried, “Wolf!” too many times, and 911 was not called.

Later that day, after the business did call in to make the break and enter report, I stopped by to take a look at the video surveillance to see if I would recognize the suspects.  Not only did the video show an incredibly clear image of the suspects faces, it brought many other bits of evidence to light that would have been lost had the business not had video.

On speaking to the owners of the business, they said the surveillance system cost approximately $10,000, which is usually too expensive for many small businesses.  The one owner said it gave her peace of mind, knowing they could provide police with excellent evidence in the event of a criminal occurrence, and that she could plug into the system from her home.

Because the case is still in the investigative stages, I am unable to show you the video feed.  I will tell you, however, that one of the crooks was so rushed and greedy in his attempt at thievery, that he destroyed much of what he took when he fell upon fleeing.

Which brought to mind a video a fellow police blogger, Slam Dunks, posted on his blog the other day.  While the crook in the Vancouver crime wiped out because he bungled his footing, the crook in the following video wiped out because he neglected to wear a belt.

Priceless. 

a: 1) a preconceived or opinion : 2) an adverse opinion or leaning formed without just grounds or before sufficient knowledge

b: an instance of such judgement or opinion

c: an irrational attitude of hostility directed against an individual, a group, a race, or their supposed characteristics

- Merriam-Webster online dictionary

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I’ve been yelled at, spit on, punched, kicked and bitten.  I have been called names, challenged on my personal views and have endured a litany of anonymous insults from those too cowardly to speak to my face.

All this from those I have sworn to protect and serve.

For the most part, this behaviour does not overly bother me, as it’s an expected part of this sometimes very difficult job.  Acts of kindness, well-wishes and heart felt ‘thank you’s’ from citizens make up for the other, less desirable side-effects of being a law enforcement officer.You simply cannot dwell on incidents when a person makes your job more difficult, and I’m usually able to adhere to this mantra.

But this past weekend, I had my patience tested.

It was a very busy night and police units were pulled taut in every direction all across Vancouver.  As a dog handler, my job is to respond to any situation where the services of the police dog may be used, and to cover/assist patrol units. I spent the night going from call to call, covering units, and making the occasional traffic stop (road criminals were everywhere).  With the exception of a spectacular roll-over accident where the driver and single occupant survived, the majority of the night was uneventful.

Until the witching hour – the last hour of shift.

A stabbing, a foot chase, a theft from auto in progress, a violent domestic – everything happened at once.  I went to the stabbing and the other dog handlers went to everything else.  I was not required at the stabbing, so after helping out with what I could, I cleared the scene and headed towards where the other handlers had their hands full.  I had not driven far when a patrol unit, on a different call, asked for a unit to cover them as they were dealing with two belligerent suspects.  They had responded to a 911 call of an altercation on the street where the caller identified the aggressors by physical characteristics and clothing, so it was clear who was who when the single police car rolled up.

When I arrived at the scene, one man was in handcuffs, another was conversing with one of two officers, and three additional people were standing off to the side.  Both men dealing with police were loud, verbally aggressive and posturing.  The three people standing off to the side were quiet and had a confused and mildly concerned look about them.

I stood by with the second, un-handcuffed male while the officers went to work putting the pieces of the story together.  After all was said and done, we discovered the two males were verbally assaulted by an unknown group of people who threw racial slurs at them before leaving in a taxi.  The two men took offence.  The three people standing next to the insult-slingers did know anyone and were in the wrong place at the wrong time .  The two men believed they were involved and challenged them.

In the end, it was all a ‘misunderstanding’.

But while speaking with the one man, he challenged me, saying the only reason I was ‘jacking him up’ was because of the colour of his skin.  He accused me of not being able to see past ethnicity to the real person underneath.  He called me a racist and pointed to the shoulder flash on my uniform with the comment that police were always ready to crucify a coloured man.  He said, not without some pride, of how I had no idea who I was dealing with, and I had better start treating him with respect.

I responded by making a similar comment to him, saying he was obviously prejudiced against police, as he had clearly not looked past my uniform to see he was speaking with a reasonable person.  I told him he was as prejudiced as he was accusing me of being, and I made a point of telling him I was there only because of a 911 call.  If the call turned out to be unfounded, he would be on his way.  Until then, the police were duty bound to identify everyone involved.

The man was not to be convinced.  He continually mentioned the fact he and his friend were coloured and that two of the three attending officers were white.  He also pointed out the third officer, who was of South Asian descent, looked more like a gang-banger than he did.

It was at that point I felt like I was trying to reason with a pouty, insolent child.  The man said we targeted them because of their ethnicity and not because of the way they were conducting themselves.  That’s when I finally lost my temper.

I told the man he was acting like a fool.  It bothers me when someone accuses me of something simply because of my uniform, but it really gets under my skin when my accuser is deaf to all reason.

I asked him if he knew the definition of hypocrisy.  He demanded clarification, and I voiced my opinion of him hating the colour blue, regardless of who was wearing it. I repeated the same line he had slung in my direction, and quoted, “You don’t know who I am.”

What I did not do was ask him to ‘start respecting me’, as I’m not sure he even respected himself.  Besides, if you have to ask for respect, you are guaranteed not to get it.

It seemed to work, at least for as long as it took us to sort out why the 911 had been made in the first place.  The two men apologized to the three witnesses and all of them went on their way. We three officers convened to talk about what had happened when loud voices from down the street were explaining to anyone who would listen that the ‘cops had nothing better to do than to harass them’.

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I did a u-turn but did not manage to catch up to him for several blocks, and it wasn’t until he was finally stopped by another red light that I was able to get close.  He looked in his side view mirror and I thought he knew I was there, but a repeat performance of the tire chirp and quick acceleration proved me wrong.  The driver cut a hard left, crossed three lanes of traffic and hammered it.

I stayed right behind him, and he tapped his brakes, hard, when I flicked on the red and blues.

Our conversation was brief and the driver gave an embarrassed shrug.  He said he had thought I was the police until he saw the burned out head light (cops never have burned out lights, he exclaimed), and then he figured I was just a “really aggressive guy driver” and he tried to stay ahead of me.  He never figured I was a “woman copper”.

Huh.

The guy took his ticket without a grumble, and was amicable about the entire traffic stop.

And I had second thoughts about getting my headlight fixed….

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I suspect this officer is from a jurisdiction other than Vancouver, and to him or her – thank you for supporting our city, our emergency services brothers and sisters and the citizens who rallied together as a community.

Kudos to everyone.

And to the officer – if you are ever in Vancouver, get a hold of me on the radio.  My call sign is Kilo-84.  I’d love to buy you a coffee.

For what it’s worth, here is the blog post from an anonymous police officer about what happened after Game 7 of the Stanley Cup, originally posted on Letters from the Front Lines: Vancouver Riot :

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Dear 2011 Vancouver Stanley Cup Rioters,

Please stop saying you’re sorry. Stop posting YouTube videos begging for forgiveness. Stop writing letters asking that society cut you some slack and leave you alone.

While you were drunk and flipping cars, I was driving with all of my emergency equipment on to get into Vancouver. While you were throwing anything you could get your hands on at the police, I was pressure testing my APR and standing in the middle of the tear gas. While you and thousands of others disgraced Vancouver and its surrounding population, I stood shoulder to shoulder with a couple hundred men and women, whom I trust my life with, ready to address your indiscretions.

You came up to me like you owned the streets in your drunken stupor, thrust your middle fingers in my face and shouted obscenities; I didn’t snap you in half.

Actions speak louder than words.

You started “harmless” fires. You torched other men and women’s cars whom you’d never met and never did you wrong. You assaulted firemen as they arrived to try and deal with your “mistakes”. You took limited, valuable emergency resources away from good people who needed them. You endangered more lives by tying up emergency services than you ever considered.

You started fights. You stabbed people you’d never met because they somehow made you angry. You gave men and women trying to protect property life altering concussions. You brought paramedics into the tear gas and exhausted them trying to save people they’d never met.

You showed up to hospital emergency rooms crying because you’d been exposed to tear gas. You got obnoxious and demanded to be treated like you were somehow dying. You knew it was a riot, you chose not to leave, you chose to stick around and breathe the tear gas in. You took nurses and doctors away from people who needed their care to live. People they’d never met but work tirelessly to save. You demanded to be treated as if you were better than the rest of society.

You’d tell me that the emergency services personnel I speak of are paid to do this job and chose to be there. You’re right. We give a damn about people we’ve never met and property that isn’t ours, that’s why we do what we do. You disgust us.

What brought a tear to my eye, after the gas had cleared, was standing in the middle of an intersection at about 3 a.m. the only people I’d seen for the last 30 minutes were other police officers, until a shop keeper brought us a case of water. Then I saw a random person with a broom clearing the sidewalk. I had a duty to respond, the citizens of Vancouver immediately afterward could have just left it up to those paid to deal with it. They didn’t just stand by, they came out in force and cleaned up after your indiscretions. Everyone I saw that early morning thanked me, I was only doing my job. I have the utmost respect for all of the people from Vancouver and the surrounding areas that came downtown and volunteered to clean up after you.

You owe Vancouver and the surrounding population more than mere words. Don’t you dare ask for our forgiveness without taking responsibility. You can’t fix life altering injuries with an “I’m Sorry”. You can’t repay someone’s car loan with a YouTube video. You ask that people leave you and your family alone but you offer no way to replace priceless losses.

You’ll sleep soundly in your bed tonight because men and women like me will always be there to deal with your poor choices. You have no idea how fortunate you are, even after we arrest and charge you. Even though you disgust me, if you call for me in the middle of the night I’ll respond. I’ll protect your life and property because it’s right and it’s what I do.

The evening of June 15, 2011 fellow emergency services personnel, my brothers and sisters, left our families at home and while grossly out numbered stood to fight. The morning of June 16, 2011 the true heroes emerged to volunteer their time and restored my faith in humanity.

Actions speak louder than words. What are you going to do about that?

— a police officer from the suburbs, who was called in to serve and protect on that night; a proud Vancouverite.

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And while you’re reading the officer’s perspective, take a look at a letter written by a nurse working in the Emergency Room of one of Vancouver’s main hospitals.  The language may be offensive to some, so if that may be you, do not click the link. But to me, it’s obvious the nurse wrote this letter with all the emotion of that night.  It’s the honest opinion of a front line worker who needs to be heard.

You can read it here – “An ER nurse’s thoughts on an instigator’s ‘apology’ “

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The uniformed men and women in the front lines were doing the best they could in a very bad situation.  They showed great resiliency, determination and, in some cases, leadership where it was not expected.

Regardless of department or agency, officers worked together.  At one point, I found myself alongside an unknown RCMP officer from the Fraser Valley and it was like we had worked together for years.  The officer’s face was a blur behind a gas mask and a helmet, but it did not matter.  We were on the same team with the same goal.

The biggest impact, though, was today.  Vancouverites came together to denounce the acts of the riotous masses.  Thousands banded together to form clean-up crew and were busy early this morning picking up garbage and repairing the streets.  They, like us, were on the same team with the same goal of supporting our city.

To our citizens, to those who tried last night to help us, and to those who have shown the boots on the ground your support, thank you – it means more than you know.

Also a special thanks to Kim Pemberton, a reporter with the Vancouver Sun, who thanked the police dogs of the VPD.

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Even the least seasoned bad guy should know it’s not a good idea to drive around town while he and his buddy are fully masked up and looking like a couple of robbers.

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And they actually asked what the big deal was.

Huh.

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