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"he Secret Social Service M n u i i i c I ' D I X ll
I liilil icccully, a largely undocumented and thereby partly submerged aspccl of policemen's work was the extent to which they play a social welfare role. Increasingly, however, evidence is mounting that policemen arc daily engaged in helping individuals or other agencies involved in problems that are apparently not related to law enforcement. Yet, the police as an organization is often reluctant to acknowledge its latent social role, largely through fear of becoming a repository for too many diffuse and distasteful tasks shed by other agencies, and is also frequently critical of alleged failures in the formal social services. Although the police and the social services often share a common clientele - the drunk, the delinquent, the homeless, the drug addict, the problem family, the immigrant, the battered wife - they tend to approach their overlapping tasks with mutual misgivings, clashes of ideologies, and frictions in manner of working (Brown and Howes, 1975). Because it rarely appears in official statistics and is largely unrecorded, this side of police work goes largely
work conspires to make of the police a 'secret' social service because obligations in this grey area remain diffuse and unspecified while operational practice is largely hidden from scrutiny and evaluation. Bittner has appropriated the term 'peace-keeping' to describe tlie order maintaining functions of poUce work, in contrast to enforcement on legalistic lines, and he states succinctly (1967a, 701) that 'peace-keeping appears to be a solution to an unknown problem arrived at by unknown There are two impediments to rectifying this situation. One is that, in reaction to the widespread uncertainty about the police role in contemporary society, some politicians and policemen are demanding a is the occupational culture which denies legitimacy to 'social work'. Both viewpoints, the traditional and the practical, are attempts to ward o f f recognition of the underlying schizoid element in police work. This central ambivalence has risen to the surface in the last decade in the form of a debate centering on the balance between 'force' or 'service' ideologies (Banton, 1970,148). The polarization that this induces is largely a false
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one. But pohcemen are occupationally incapable of coping with ambivalence and the oversimplified terms of the debate obscure the complexity of the issues and helps to absolve the policeman from taking responsibUity for rethinking his ideology (he is so used to receiving his mandate from others and purports to be a socio-political eunuch). Here an attempt will be made to make visible the complex occupational reality which obscures the welfare component in police work. This chaper can do little more I I K I I I document our ignorance and discuss what is required to improve our linücrslanding in this area. It is not based on field work in Briti.iu and my nialcrial on the Amsterdam police (Punch, 1976b, 1978) con(;iiiis loo in.iny specific local and cultural features to be used as comparative I will coiirim- myself, therefore, to a review of the literature and to convcyiuB some salienl issues n.ised by the conception of the police organization us :i 'sccicl' soci.-il scivicc. Two features of the literature deserve our attention, i'irslly, the J . M . I C I H I C debate in this area has moved from primarily documeiUiii)- lli :-'.V.) I hi needs some analytical and conceptual precision to avoid i . v n . i . i . simplification in generalizing about incidents. One crucial factor in how policemen view incidents is lli.-ii . culture and how this shapes their ideology as to what I h e y | r , - l n „ , - i, be doing and have to do. Generally the structural features nl p . , ,i are isolation, solidarity, shift-work, uniform, autonomy, danrr.. i!„ role of the unexpected (Westley, 1970). These arc said to pn.ni.dr working personality which is cynical, authoritarian, su.spici - i i i l n | , ( , l i , . i m i well as between police and people. Indeed, as i s clear liom l l i . . ^
I ,,i)|nTiilii>n
i p . IM I .
..
I l l I..1 ,il j.overnment reforms) for the police to compete with those agencies
lli.-sc differences tend to generate a mutual antipathy between police.... ...nut social workers which can complicate and hinder their common i-vXv. (Kilby and Constable, 1975). Policemen tend to be upper working. I.r;:;. poorly educated, conventional males, while social workers are often niidillc class, educated, liberal (increasingly 'radical') females. Using the I A I M (.lob Analysis and Interest Measurement) paper and pencil test with Aiiu-iican policemen and social workers, Walther etal. (1973) came to the I oncliisioii that the social worker's profile, stressing professional standards, nilcriial control, personal growth, and delegative or participative leadership, I:: ainiosi the exact opposite of the policeman's which places the accent on slaiidaids of authority, competitiveness and self-assertiveness, and 'in Britain the reorganization of the social services following the ,;,u:l.olim Reoort and the Local Authority Social Services Act o f 1970 has led lo a greater intrusion of social workers into areas which the pohce previously considered their preserve and to a more professional orientation. The latter involves a search for theoretical underpinning in university based courses, a case-load approach which can hinder mobility by demanding that clients appear at appointed times in the office, and values which may predispose the social worker to keep a family together as long as possible and be 'sympathetic' to the social origins of crime and delinquency. The policeman may view such social workers, in contrast to some of the old-time probation officers who 'knew the score' (Evans, 1974, 92), as well meaning, but weak, idealists obsessed with theories of 'tit-feeding'. He perceives himself as a man of action and may consider a young inexperienced social worker as dilatory and vacillating. Marshall (1974) claims that they are seen by policemen as 'young, inexperienced, impossibly idealistic, radically anti-estabhshment, and impermanent'. The weaknesses in the operation of the new legislation may only add to suspicion. One can imagine for example, the cynical police reaction to the following account, about a juvenile being detained in Holloway women's prison. {Guardian, 20 November 1974): 'The fifteen year old girl sat meekly before the court
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yesterday. Her social worker began reading out a list of institutions where she had tried to place (he child: seven remand homes, nine hospitals, and almost 20 hostels, c o i n i u H n i l y lioinos, and child centres. All were full or refused lo lake cliciHs l i n n i oiilside their catchment area.' Ill | ) i a c i i r c I h e vvoikin|',s o f the Children and Young Persons Act has led l l ) m i l l h 1 iiih i M H and In li ic lion between magistrates, social workers, ["'III I iiid I I I , .md clearly the parties involved have radically different 111. I ill. m l j M i i i i liiiiciit and the role of the courts. The act had removed l l l l | . . . H i I . l l ( mills to send children to an approved school and replaced l l W i l l i a I'ciicial order committing them to the care of local authorities. ( l i i o M i r s i K i r t a g e of places in suitable centres led to weaknesses in practice M i l l i e L'liildren had to be released, others were sent to totally inappro( n i a i c institutions, while some were even detained in adult prisons — and lliis is clearly a vital area for administrative reform and ideological clarity (Berlins and Wansell, 1974). This mutual antipathy between police and social services varies from region to region and from individual to individual but it obviously opens up a crucial area of value conflict between the two agencies, which has its sources in recruitment, training, perceptions of territory, ideological differences, and so on. Policemen have a feeling for the nature of the order in their area, believe that they have to be 'on top of the area', consider that they have priority over certain cases, and resent and suspect the legally justified 'interference' of social workers on their stamping ground (Chatterton, 1975, 253). In particular, the police are somewhat disparaging about the other services and especially about their non-availability in the small hours -• 'anyone would think that domestic crises were confined to nine to five, Monday to Friday' was how one officer expressed it to me. Furthermore, the police culture places a low value on 'social' aspects of police work. American policemen view this area as 'shit' work, and therefore as morally degrading to them as upholders o f public safety (Manning, 1973b, 15). Tliis view was summed up by the patrolman who, when asked to check on a missing girl, said: 'That's the way it goes; every time you begin to do some real police work, you get stuck with this stuff. I guess 90 per cent of all police work is bullshit. All most people want is a shoulder to cry on' (Reiss, 1971,442). Indeed, 1 suspect that this identification of 'real' police work with the crime-fighting model is fairly universal and that generally detective work has higher status because i t exemplifies the symbolic rites of investigation, arrest, interrogation, confession, and of justice being done (increasingly justice is being 'done' less often as clear-up percentages fall and as courts become, in police eyes, more lenient). At the bottom of the police hierarchy is the uniformed constable who has low status and low rewards and yet he is the man who has to cope with the rag-bag of extraneous duties and who encounters the public and makes decisions that can implicate the rest of the structure. In his cross-pressured predicament on the 'front line'
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(Punch, 1976a), he can become easily frustrated and embittered, reflecting sourly on laws that hinder him and a public that will not help. Domestic disputes, for instance, are often a messy and unrewarding business — two adults hurling insults at each other and both demanding that the policeman adjudicate on their claims and counter-claims. The law is ambiguous and the social implications precarious, so often the policy is to leave it alone: 'I'd rather take on an armed hood than answer a call about a family squabble' (Preiss and Ehrlich, 1966, 23). The point is that a confrontation with an armed gangster promises an unambiguous situation where the policeman comes into his own, where he can feel the adrenalin, and where he may end up with a nicely rounded piece of work — a prisoner, the weapon and evidence of an open-and-shut crime which society can descry. This is not to suggest that all poUcemen are asphalt cowboys but that their occupational ideology is disproportionately shaped by the rare moments of excitement and unambiguity which are afforded (Cain, 1973, 67). Individual policemen, while wholeheartedly ascribing to that ideology, may still be warm and supportive to certain groups (especially the very young, the old, and females in distress) in certain situations (Kirkhani, 1974, 135 ). But the exposure to danger and deviance ol'lcn means llial policcincii develop strong anti-deviant and anti-public alliliidrs iiicliidiiij', a disposition to create hostile stereotypes (Manning, 1974, 1^)). As social w o r k e r s adopt 'counter-cultural' styles of dress and behaviour, police may regard them as symbolically deviant and this will be even more true ol ladical social workers, 'street-corner' workers, members of law centres, squallini,. groups, claimants unions, women's groups, and so on, who may be seen as a cross between interfering amateurs and class traitors while causing resentment by denying the police unimpeded access to previously vulnerable groups. The policeman's informal socialization to norms o f defensiveness, depersonalization, cynicism, and intolerance can scarcely be considered ideal preparation for handhng complex inter personal problems with members of minority groups, with a homeless family squatting in an unoccupied house, with an irate husband inter-personal to a woman's refuge where his wife has found shelter with a long-haired sociologist 'drop-out' causing a scene on behalf of a claimant at the counter of a Supplementary Benefits Office, or with a 'Release' worker objecting to a predatory attitude towards drug users. For instance, a reporter commented on an eviction in Tower Hamlets which led to a loicliliglil jirolest lo I,ciiian Street Station (Guardian, 1 March 1973): 'The sight of 50 police supporting private bailiffs in evicting homeless couples from run-down properties owned and still dealt in by property companies, although they arc due for demolition in three years time, is not edifying.' It is scarcely surprising then that, among those cases wliich the policeman considers to be of low status and virtually worthless, are traffic, extra duties (football matches, escort duties, processions), and 'social work'
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tasks. Their characterislics arc lliat they can take up a lot of time, lead to no discernible resull, ami rank low in the official and informal reward systems. Also i n i lmlcd aic (he nasty jobs — conveying messages of death of relalivcs, n i i)vciui)>, dead bodies, witnessing small children involved in injniv O l vlolcni dcadi, and evictions. On the one hand are the incidents wliii ll have a polciitially contaminating emotional impact and on the other II.IIMI .IU- Hut pointless and almost degrading little jobs which devolve on to l l l l - paiiolnian's shoulders. He resents being used as a messenger boy, a first.iidci, a handyman, and a traffic warden. Above all he objects to beingused because that interferes with his notions of himself as an independent craftsman engaged in important work (Wilson, 1968, 283; Skolnick, 1975, 42-70). In brief, the policeman's occupational culture views 'social work' tasks as often trivial and time-consuming — Philadelphia policemen refer to them as 'bullshit calls' (Rubinstein, 1973, 110) which you talk your way out of as quickly as possible - yet, more importantly, is reluctant to acknowledge the expanding legal and organizational jurisdiction of social work which increasingly challenges police autonomy in a number of areas. The contrasting occupational ideologies and cultures of policemen and social workers promise continuing competition, conflict and confusion.
Some Research Considerations Having sketched the conflict between two cultures which often fail to communicate with one another (de Smit, 1972,), I would now like to turn briefly to a clarification of the implications for research. Basically the issue can be viewed at various levels which need to be identified analytically in order to avoid confusion. While not assuming the list to be exhaustive, I shall focus on ideology, organizational structure, interorganizational relationships, role definitions, informal occupational values, and training. Implicit in this exposition is the fact that we are ignorant of many facets of policing because of the paucity of research data in Britain. Wliile technically the police service is non-political and purports to be 'neutral', it is clear that police work is identified with a conventional and conservative interpretation of legislation, values, and social change. I am here concerned with the broadest interpretation of the police role in upholding the social ends of society while recognizing that a narrower and more precise analysis, such as that of Bunyan (1976), can uncover patently 'political' values and practices. In brief, we need to know the development, components, and elements of change in the police ideology wliich informs its broad role as an important agency of social control immediately involved in the pursuit of social policy in terms of changing or maintaining the integration of society on traditional lines. This has value not simply in its own right of itemizing the police world picture and ideological
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conceptions of what i l is endeavouring to achieve but also in helping to scrutinize the value differences with the statutory social services. The welfare state purports to support the individual in need and the social services are imbued with this ideology whereas the more overt control functions of the police may sponsor ideological ambivalences and contradictions in a period of rapid social change which hinder effective institutional liaison with the social sei-viccs. Modern, urban society is often characterized by decaying inner urban areas where community ties are fragmented, where facihties are separated from clients, and where there is a breakdown of communication that enables the police to fill a vital role (Marshah, 1974; Marshall, 1975; Bopjp_, 1972; Brown and Howes, 1975). But this partly fortuitous development raises diffuse and unresolved issues of legitimate and illegitimate spheres of authority which are only partially allowed for by the developing welfare services. In the Netherlands people are warned not to trust community relations officers because ol' their dual functions as both social helpers and gathers of potentially incriminating criminal and political information (Magoort et al, 1976, 31). Macdonald (1977) has also queried police motives in moving into the community relations area while Cain (1977, 12) writes: Community liaison officers mushroom up in the wake of juvenile bureaux, road safety, crime prevention, and straight P R jobs. This kind of community contact is conceived in part as an educational job: that of training the community to make the right, that is 'reasonable', demands of the police, and then letting it make them. But tliis kind of community contact is controlled from the centre. It is to do with changing the police image, not changing the police.
This ideological background, often mute and but dimly perceived by policemen themselves, may play a crucial organizational role in terms of institutional structure, goal setting, and the allocation of priorities. Typically we are allowed access to the lower echelons of police work, patrolmen and detectives, but rarely are we permitted to look at policy formation among the top elite of police officers. The regular meetings of chief constables with the Home Office, inter-force cooperation, force level decision-making, the influence of outside pressure groups, are all closed books and the political-managerial culture at organizational level has never been made explicit. Yet it is here, far from the blood and tears of'frontline' policing, that influential priorities are set and organizational resources are allocated. Furthermore, the inter-organizational relationships of the police with formal and voluntary agencies remains to be explored. Generally research has focused on what the public demands of the police and how the police respond but, in a sense, that is only a fraction of the picture. For there is a good deal of official and unofficial traffic between the police as critical gate-keepers and other services which needs to be documented and charted. How are people channeUed through the services network and what decisions made at office and station counters allocate a client to one sector
114 The British Police rather than another? What haison lakes phice between the police and social workers over specific proiilcms? A l Chaucer House in Southwark (which figured in the TV doc-iimc.ilary "!iie Block), for example, the social workers' (-(yopcialioii vvilli Ihe Iciiants' association aroused the deepest suspicions ol Ihc p o h , c a n d , when faced with thieving from then oi lu c, (lir S.M w..ik.:i could not call in the police because their project would li.iw r,
