We’ve long had reason to be ‘‘relatively’’ proud of the men and women in blue. Corruption has been minimal - especially compared with much of the world, including Australia.
Corruption, brutality, and arrogance are constant risks for any organisation vested with such power and authority. They belong to society yet stand apart from it.
Peace and order are essential to any functioning society, and it is we who, through government, delegate that authority. In effect, they also operate as monopolies, without the sharpening influence of competition.
‘‘Relatively’’ is a necessary qualification, given the chequered record. The planted cartridge case in the 1970 Crewe murders stained their image. Bungling in the Bain investigation and Teina Pora prosecution further eroded trust.
Respect fell among middle-class New Zealanders after police squads used excessive force against anti-Springbok-tour protesters in 1981.
The most damning revelations came with Louise Nicholas’s allegations and Dame Margaret Bazley’s 2007 inquiry, which exposed a culture of male bonding, mutual protection, and tolerance of sexual misconduct. Supposedly, the worst has been curbed. Not so, it seems.
Police work, by its nature, can breed insularity and defensiveness, giving rise to distinct subcultures and inward-looking attitudes.
Loyalty to friends and colleagues is human nature. In policing, where officers confront society’s darkest corners, that loyalty easily eclipses integrity and standards.
It was deeply troubling when a constable was exposed as a paid informant for organised crime, a scandal that prompted the creation of the Police National Integrity Unit in 2020.
Yet this week’s revelations about grievous leadership failures have done more to undermine public faith than that, or the downfall and disgrace of a deputy commissioner. Jevon McSkimming admitted possessing child sexual exploitation and bestiality material.
Even before this, thoughtful observers were dismayed to learn recently that more than 100 officers falsified some 30,000 breath tests.
The latest revelations are breathtaking in the worst sense. The disregard for duty and abuse of power by senior leaders is staggering.
No wonder Police Minister Mark Mitchell is furious, also learning that a staff member was advised to forward emails about McSkimming directly to then-Commissioner Andrew Coster and not to share them with anyone else in the minister’s office.
McSkimming persuaded senior police that he was the victim, not the offender. His colleagues and friends became ‘‘unduly preoccupied’’ with safeguarding his career, a fixation that drew them into ‘‘serious misconduct’’.
Some officers, at least, dared to question their superiors and ensure proper procedures were followed, actions that helped avert a full cover-up. Such determination must be especially difficult within the police hierarchy.
In its report, the Independent Police Conduct Authority praised these ‘‘officers who displayed commendable integrity and moral courage’’.
Only sustained excellence and unwavering standards can rebuild shattered public confidence.
That is the redemptive path New Zealanders expect. As Mr Mitchell said, the focus must be on integrity and standards.
But why was this not the case before?
Police officers will face repeated tests of principle. They must place the community they swear to serve above self-protection and self-interest. Like policing itself, that is no easy task.
For New Zealand’s future, our police must be both trusted — and worthy of that trust.
Civis, alert to curious word choices, stumbled upon ‘‘followship’’ while reading about the McSkimming case.
A Public Service Commission note quoted Mr Coster saying he had ‘‘no concerns about [McSkimming’s] leadership or his ability to create followship in the organisation.’’
Unfamiliar to Civis, the Collins Dictionary defines ‘‘followship’’ as ‘‘the practice of doing what other people suggest, rather than taking the lead’’ - precisely what was not needed, especially from those courageous officers who challenged their superiors.
