Pauline Nevins

The recent brutal, callous killing of George Floyd, an unarmed African-American man, by a white police officer who swore to protect and serve, spurred me to examine my own perceptions of policing.

I am biracial, live in California and grew up in England. I have a positive opinion of British policing, formed by television and personal experiences.

Along with millions of other Brits, I was once glued to the telly on a Saturday night waiting for the familiar greeting, “Evening All,” from the country’s beloved police constable, George Dixon, star of the police drama Dixon of Dock Green. This London Bobby knew the area and the people where he patrolled and solved crimes with compassion and humor.

I wandered the streets as a young child and often got lost. A Bobby on patrol could be relied on to take me by the hand and lead me home. The house he led me to was often in turmoil. During one frightening event, I was old enough to sprint across the street to the red phone box on the corner. I dialed 999 – Britain’s emergency number. A policeman arrived and calmly settled the disturbance. For my trouble, I got a clip round the ear from my mum.

To my Irish mother, the police were not your friend. She was born just after the Irish War of Independence. The stories of police atrocities during the conflict had never left her. So, there we were, mother and I. She, fearful of the police based on her experiences. And I, viewing them as protectors based on mine.

My positive opinion of police, however, did not stretch across the Atlantic. In my teens, scenes of civil unrest in America beamed across the pond – protesters fleeing in terror as police drew guns and lobbed tear gas. These violent confrontations have continued. Why hasn’t anything changed? Is anybody even trying?

Then I remembered an article entitled: “U.S. law enforcement gets lessons from U.K.” by Al Baker, New York Times reporter. Baker’s article chronicled the visit of a contingent of American police officials who traveled to Tulliallan, Scotland, in 2015, to observe their policing methods.

Regarding the use of deadly force, Al Baker wrote, the Scots “would shudder to see such words in their policies. Above all, a Scottish constable’s measure of success is whether everyone involved, not just the police officers, survives the confrontation.” British professional policing, founded in 1829 by Sir Robert Peel (hence the term Bobby), was established on the principle of “policing by consent.”

Scottish police do not carry firearms. They defend themselves against machetes, swords and petrol bombs by focusing on de-escalation, and then, if they must, use batons, handcuffs and pepper spray. Wrote Blake, “For them, calming a situation through talk, rather than escalating it with weapons, is an essential policing tool … constables live where they work and embrace their role as ‘guardians of the community, not warriors from a policing subculture.’”

There are obvious cultural differences between Scotland and the United States. Handguns are mostly banned in the U.K., and more than 300 million guns are in circulation in America. Growing up, the only guns I saw, besides my brothers’ BB guns, were a neighbor’s hunting rifle. Graham would roar down the street on his gold motorcycle, rifle case strapped across his back, on his way to poach something for dinner. “The kids wouldn’t recognize meat if it wasn’t a rabbit,” my mother used to say.

Despite the cultural differences, American police officials thought they could learn some things. Among them was Mike Chitwood, then police chief in Daytona Beach, Florida, who understood that training is key. Chief Chitwood noted that officers should “take a step back and talk to people” instead of following the misguided notion, drilled into new officers, that it is “better to be judged by 12 than carried by six.”

I wondered how Mike Chitwood was doing today. I sent him an email asking if he was able to incorporate any of the Scottish police methods. He’s now sheriff of Volusia County, Florida, and I expected a response from an assistant. Instead, I got a personal call from the sheriff. I couldn’t have been more surprised had the governor phoned.

Sheriff Chitwood talked freely about his Scottish trip. He used terms like “critical decision making,” “de-escalation,” “sanctity of life” – of the need to bring in mental health professionals – working with advocacy groups. Sheriff Chitwood admitted that when he arrived in Volusia County, his relationship with the NAACP and local black clergy was contentious. They were able to work together and both groups enthusiastically endorsed him for sheriff.

Anguished voices are calling for radical changes to policing in America. Al Baker’s column and Sheriff Chitwood show us how we begin to make this possible.