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Some are now mathematicians, and some are carpenters' wives Ive got no clue how they got there and I really dont know why... - Bob Dylan, Tangled Up In Blue The Policewomans Dilemma By Andrew Szemeredy London, 2013 05 26 1546 worlds I went through three experiences with police women. In one, and I'll try to keep it short, she was supervising an intersection where new streetcar tracks were lain down. I was negotiating the road full of holes, cracks, cars, pedestrians, baby carriages and old folks' walkers, while trying also to pay attention to unruly traffic signs and signals. All this, on my bicycle. I did not dare to look at her, in fear of being stopped. I heard a woman's voice calling out to me; I looked and she was smiling at me. Good enough, I stopped, we talked, she told me this is an off-day assignment, she gets paid at three and half times her regular hourly rate. I asked her if she ever helps out when a jam develops in the traffic when she is posted at a road construction project. She said, no, she had that done once early on, quite some time ago, and it had turned out to be disaster. Trucks had collided. Please don't ask me, she said. Then we talked more, about other things. At one point she took off her shades, and my knees almost gave out. If I hadn't been straddling the bike, I would have just collapsed. She had the world's most gorgeous eyes. I went on, came back the next day and she was distant. Nothing there of the previous day's intense curiosity. Hot and cold, she turned on and off faster than a neon sign, I sighed.

Second police woman: I was at traffic court, and the Crown (Canadian equivalent of US District Attorney) got me upset, and then more and more upset, I guess only because he found it fun. I was screaming toward the end, that there is no justice in Canada. I was taken out of the courtroom by a lanky, tall, slim, well-built police woman, and she calmed me down in a few seconds. When she was satisfied I was no longer going to run amok, she said she had to go back and she left me there. When she talked to me, she was giving me a concerned, caring look in the corridor, she spoke with a voice of an "insider", that is, with a voice reminiscent of how an old friend would talk to me. I got hung up on her and immediately fell addicted to her presence. She went back to the courtroom, like I said. The third time a policewoman came to the scene of an alleged crime. She was not handling the situation right, I thought at the time, because she kept on giving me the same opinion over and over again, without stating where that opinion puts us, and how she got there before summarizing as stated in these opinions. Eventually she did, after two and a half hours of talking to me. She was a good woman, a wise woman, but she was not trained to talk to insanely upset people. I wanted to hear more logic, more of the mechanics and dynamics of the law she was applying to the situation; she did not see that my feeling upset was in fact a high level of impatience resulting from having listened to her explaining a near-obvious thing seven times, and then needing her desperately to stop repeating herself and to proceed to the next step, and to explain how the law applied in that situation. She was a good woman. By this time, having noted the first two instances: warmth, instantaneous turning on-and-off, and being matter-of-fact helpful in creating emotional calm or even emotional bliss, and then going back into oblivion -- I had some things to go on to create the model of the non-cruel policewoman who had had some lengthier history with the force. In general: the policewoman, in short, is a natural healer. She is naturally adept at making people feel at ease. This she shares with many a psychiatric intake doctors at emergency wards. The policewoman has to rely on her wits to decide what is the best way to proceed. Here she employs her wisdom. Wisdom, my gentle reader, is not to be assumed to always to come hand-inhand with high intellect. I have a high intellect, and am far from wise; many people who are not so high on the IQ scale, can come up with better decisions quicker, in potentially explosive social situations. Police women are good at that, because, I guess, they have seen a lot of situations, so to speak; they have noted the parallels, the recurring themes, motifs and dynamics, both interpersonal and intrapersonal -- in personal psychology -- and learned

from it. A better policewoman is good at pattern recognition, and she is good at knowing when to apply what skill in her repertoire of responses. This is also typical for psychiatrists as well. There is a big difference in the role and therefore in the personal, internal satisfaction of what the job provides to them, between psychiatrists and policewomen. Psychiatrists are trained to notice things more in-depth, at the cost of not needing so often to be right on the ball, so to speak, and to judge and create order. The psychiatrists are equipped and encouraged to offer long term help, the policewomen, not. They both have to learn how to distance themselves form sympathy and reduce their feelings to a most rudimentary level of empathy. Both police women and psychiatrists have to learn how to put up a few layers of ego-shields to protect themselves from psychological self-destruction induced by observing an almost infinite variety of intense human suffering day in and day out. The application by the self to forcefully dampen and diminish her own feelings, to reduce their apparent impact is never a good thing. It is not a good thing, because the forced removal of natural emotional response only applies insofar as its behavioural consequences; the mind, the human soul, cant discount the real experience and the real emotions. They stay inside, they accumulate. An average person is encourage to mourn away these types of emotional trauma; the psychiatrist knows its coming, and has some at least theoretical training to know he has to deal with it, and he knows approximately how to deal with it. The policewoman may have some inkling about it, but she never gets to realize the full impact of trying to avoid feeling pain, and trying to self-suggest she needs not grieve, whereas in reality she needs to, bit time. The one thing the psychiatrist has, and this is where my admiration emerges for the policewoman, is that the psychiatrist has a glimpse of hope of helping the patient. The doctors can afford not to turn on and off like flashing neon signs. The police woman, because she is human, and because she is a woman, would naturally be inclined to do the same. But she can't do, by force of he circumstances of her job. Worse, she must also turn on and off her emotions, not just her outward behavior with a very upset madman she finds on the street. Turning emotions so categorically around takes its toll on a human. It is similar to the damaging effect of having to smile when one does not feel like it, when one has to praise someone she despises, when she has to kiss a man she finds repulsive, when she has to agree with the boss though she knows the boss is completely in the wrong with the decision he or she is making and imposing the wrong behaviour response on her to carry out in the field. Okay, not field, but jungle.

Seeing, helping, calming down a madman, feeling for him, feeling for his illborne emotions, is what she immediately does because the police woman is a healer, a helper, a woman. Turning herself off the helping mode, when she drives away in her cruiser, is an act she has to perform as per the duties of her job. She can't be natural. She has to assassinate her own personal needs daily, repeatedly. She turns to alcohol, many police personnel do, and people accept that as a matter-of-course event, and a common enough eventuality. Policewoman? She will be an alcoholic. She will be a nervous wreck, who camouflages it well. I feel infinite sadness and compassionate sorrow for these women: they sacrifice their life force, their humanity, their own worth as a woman, to do a job for society. Did they know this when they entered the force? They must have had an idea. They took on the challenge anyway -- for the glory, for the pay. For the prestige, for the need to prove themselves. Did they bargain for what they got out of the career eventually? The destroying of their own selves? Police women are victims. They don't get destroyed because like in an ancient Greek drama, or a modern French movie, they sold their soul to the devil, and they are getting their just deserts. No. They get destroyed despite being good and serving and trying to save the world. They do save the world, in their own ways, and they also pay their dues by destroying their own souls not through sinning, but through making it bend in unnatural ways.