Oct 2000 Volume 81 Number 10
"serving the protectors"
| Oct 2000 Volume 81 Number 10 "serving the protectors" |
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| Surprisingly few police officers serve in the vast, windswept outback of South Australia’s Far North. Four officers tell of the isolation and hardship, but also why they recommend the frontier lifestyle to all their colleagues. | |
| By
Brett Williams |
Policing the Aboriginal Pitjantjatjara Lands has left one officer stabbed, another knocked out and an aide with his hand cut - all in the last 12 months.
Just nine SA cops enforce law on the lands from an outback station in the remote Far North town of Marla. They confront petrol-sniffing, alcoholism and domestic violence every day.
Their firearms are outlawed on the lands, and STAR Group back-up remains more than 1,000kms away in Adelaide. So, for an unarmed patrol crew under attack from the substance-influenced, or trapped between warring families, help can take hours to arrive.
Surviving police life on the lands - where Marla cops spend 90 per cent of their work hours - depends entirely on cool heads and understanding Aboriginal culture.
“It’s a pretty big job,” says Marla police station officer-in-charge, Senior Sergeant Peter “Flip” Wilson, 43. “It can be stressful and difficult at times: you’ve got an area about the size of Ireland, and there’s up to 4,000 traditional Aboriginal people living on the lands.
“We go out on patrols for up to five days on the lands, and camp in police quarters. It’s not unusual to go to a domestic fight and have both sides lined up with spears and nulla-nullas, with full-scale warfare only a step away. That’s where cool heads and common sense need to come into play.
“It comes down to the ability to read a situation; to know when to get involved and when to retreat. I won’t criticize anyone who thinks they need to retreat. You don’t go in where angels fear to tread. The situation diffuses and we go in later and take action. You don’t have to act immediately in all situations.
“There’s a lot of flexibility in the policing up here, and all of my staff are leaders. They can go out there and display their leadership skills, and they’re not constrained.”
And Wilson’s crews often return from their five-day patrols with up to 15 apprehension reports and six PIRs (police incident reports).
These reports relate to the same broad range of break-in, serious assault, firearm and drug trading offences faced by city cops. And alcohol abuse exists despite the lands’ “dry” status under the Pitjantjatjara Land Rights Act.
Wilson - who speaks of hundreds of petrol-sniffers, trade in cannabis and an offender recently charged with supplying amphetamines - describes the lands’ substance abuse as “a massive problem”.
But in addition to their responsibilities to the lands, Marla cops are accountable for law enforcement throughout the rest of their Ireland-size police district.
“We have a lot of tourists travelling on places like the Oodnadatta Track and having accidents,” says Wilson. “We have a number of accidents on the highway, and stock is not fenced in so a number of people hit cows.
“And, if you’ve got a crook moving from Adelaide to the Northern Territory, he’s going to be in Marla. We’ve also got a big commitment to speed detection and RBT on the highway. There’s very little work in Marla itself.”
While some cops might jump to hasty conclusions about police life in Marla, Wilson says his staff “have a great time”. None, he insists, regrets his or her choice of posting.
“First,” he says, “the great majority of people you meet out on the lands are really nice people, with a wonderful culture. Second, some of the landscapes out there are the most beautiful in South Australia, and you’re just not going to see them unless you work somewhere like Marla.
“When Marla’s full-staffed, it’s a wonderful place. It gives them (police) a chance to shine, and a fair number have been recognized through promotion.”
Marla police also relish their barbecue-every-weekend lifestyle, camping trips and the joy of making their own fun. Their only disappointment, it seems, is the absence of organized sport.
But the Marla community holds them in high regard: it understands the delicate police role they face on the lands.
“They’ve seen us in action here at the local hotel when there’s been a bit of trouble,” says Wilson. “They appreciate the service we provide.”
Wilson concedes that any police officer’s time in a Marla-style post is limited, but “heartily recommends” the experience. He says those best suited to the job are officers with some background in country policing.
He says he can always find a bed for prospective outback cops who want to visit the area. “Come up for a week and we’ll put you out on the lands in a patrol,” he says. “See if you think you could make a career here, because it’s such a great environment to police.”
Sgt Richard Bach, 41, stationed at Marla since 1998. City-born and -raised.
“It is a difficult, demanding position here,” he says. “You’re dealing with people with an entirely different culture and value base. Fighting, for instance, is a traditional way of settling things. They’ll do it whether you’re there or not and, if you intervene, you may get a hostile reception from the rest of the community.
“The only way to become aware is to be with experienced members and listen to the police aides. I always tell people that their main mission is to come back (from the lands) unharmed; use caution to keep yourself in one piece.
“Petrol-sniffers are very hard to predict. They can ?snap’, and because you’re usually with only one other police officer - and perhaps a police aide - you take the cautious approach and back out. You can always go and talk to them later.”
Bach explains, however, that not every incident to which he and his colleagues respond is tension-charged. They may, after a five-hour drive across the outback, arrive at a scene from which an offender has long since fled to Western Australia. But officers must still find witnesses and take statements.
“You just have to remember that you’re on their (Aborigines’) land and in their communities,” says Bach, “and you often need their support. Generally, you’ll get some support from a family member (of an offender).”
The hours-long response time of STAR Group and other support units frustrates Bach, but he also sees it as part of the job’s challenge. “You have to use your head and make judgements,” he says. “You do what you can with what you’ve got, and you learn to adapt to not having resources.
“I wouldn’t suggest a person stay here for more than three years. It’s important to return to mainstream policing every few years, and you can always come back.”
And Bach says no Marla cop struggles to find leisure pursuits. Alice Springs and Ayres Rock - only a half-day drive away - offer shopping and sightseeing, and many outback stations welcome off-duty police to help muster cattle.
“Most of us are volunteer members of the CFS, SES and ambulance service,” he says, “so we train and work with them.
“If you’re looking for something completely different - still in uniform policing - you’d come here. We encourage people to come up for several days first, go out on patrol, stay in the quarters and see what they think. Then, they’re fully aware of what we do and what’s required.
“An adventurous posting we can almost certainly guarantee.”
Senior Constable Julie Williams, 31, stationed at Marla since 1998. Country-born and -raised.
“We’re not just going in, pinching people and then going out,” she says. “We’re dealing with them (Aborigines) on a day-to-day basis and trying to help them with other things, like motor vehicle enquiries. There might be a domestic problem at home they want to talk about.
“Some of the elders don’t speak very good English, so we have to try to speak a bit of their language. We don’t speak fluent Pitjantjatjara, but we do pick up a few words. They appreciate that, so a few words go a long way.
“You get to know them, and they relate to you. But one week you may be talking to someone as a victim; another week you’re talking to the same person as an offender.”
Williams concedes the job has its dangers and has herself been assaulted. “The worst I got was a punch in the head,” she says. “That was in a shed at a Blue Light disco. One of the petrol-sniffers was using his mother as a punching bag. I tried to intervene, so I became the next punching bag.
“There’s two of you out on the lands at a time. There’s a lot of angry people with knives and sticks, and you’re in the middle of it. Sometimes they’re angry at you, so that can be quite a volatile situation.”
But Williams revels in the challenge the lands present her as a police officer. She made no rash decisions when she applied for the post two years ago, and now sees her work as far more than “just another patrol experience”.
She says no officers could ever gain the lands-type experience in any other post. And, for Williams, the outback lifestyle poses no dilemma.
“The outback is great!” she says. “The first few times you see it, it’s breathtaking. There’s some beautiful scenery out here - waterholes and rocky outcrops. You drive up the bitumen and it doesn’t look much, but out on the Pitjantjatjara Lands there are some beautiful spots.
“I particularly enjoy the outdoors and being so far from the city: it’s a slower pace.”
Williams says cops who crave the café lifestyle are the ones least likely to prosper in Marla. Nonetheless, she says a stint of outback policing is worth every cop’s consideration. She suspects time in Marla wouldn’t “hurt their careers”.
“Anyone interested should come up even just for a few days,” she says. “They can see exactly what they’re getting themselves into, and that’s going to help them make a decision.”
Constable Steve Lang, 37, stationed at Marla since 1999. Country-born and -raised.
“I’ve had one confrontation with a bloke with a spear,” he says. “He was standing up on a verandah and had it pointed down at us (a police aide and me). Looking up at one of those hunting spears was a scary moment, but we managed to talk our way out of that one.
“And just recently we had one family who wanted to get the male member of another family in a medical clinic and assault him. I met them at the gate and had a standing confrontation with a heap of elders and a large family with nulla-nullas and spears. I was able to get a rapport with the elders, but one young fellow came up and punched me with his fist.
“He went into the crowd and grabbed a nulla-nulla, but the elders took it away from him. We got reinforcements (two other officers), called all the aides in, talked to each group and it calmed down.”
But Lang doesn’t see himself as facing any greater risks than his city counterparts. Their on-going battle against gun- and knife-related violence on Adelaide streets seems, to Lang, equally dangerous.
He concedes, however, that serious crime plays a part in Marla officers’ work. “There’s a lot of serious assaults,” he says. “We’ve usually got to investigate them by the guidance of the CIB at Coober Pedy - if they can’t get up here. You really get into some ?good’ work and learn a lot more about major crimes.
“In the city, you’ll lock someone up, go to the watch-house, and that’s the last you’ll see of them. Here, you get an arrest, drive them for up to four hours to Marla police station, hold a phone conference and try to get a remanded-in-custody. Then, you may have to drive all the way down to Coober Pedy.”
Lang says the Marla experience is an “eye-opener”, the impact of which he had underestimated before he took up his post last year. Since then, however, he has “fallen into it pretty easily”.
“You’ve got to adjust to the lifestyle,” he says, “and you’ve got to get a rapport with the people out there. I’ve been here 12 months and only now am I starting to work out who’s who and get a bit of confidence.
“I know just enough of the lingo to get a rapport going. When you’re out there you pick it up. Whatever result you get is up to you.
“I like the remoteness, getting out on the lands and dealing with the Aborigines. There is a lot of good people out there, and you can learn a lot, too.”
Lang has butchered sheep, joined stockmen on musters and helped brand cattle. And Marla’s barbecue lifestyle, as well as the vast outback in which to camp on days off duty, are exactly to his taste. He doesn’t believe a better social life exists.
He says prospective Marla cops should like the bush, have four-wheel driving experience and be self-sufficient. As a warning, he suggests they consider their suitability to the outback’s isolation.
“You just wouldn’t lose,” he insists. “You cannot leave without learning. The lands, for example, are closed: you’ve got to have a permit to go there. Average Joe just doesn’t see them. And, once you’ve been up here and had to deal with things on your own, you’ll probably find you deal with things a lot better down south.”
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