Offbeat copper

Tuesday August 28, 2001

The Guardian

Brian Paddick is on the front line in the war against guns and drugs. But he has a more personal battle to fight – being gay in a macho police force. Nick Hopkins meets him

Special report: policing crime

Brian Paddick was livid. He’d interviewed the people on the shortlist, carefully assessed their weaknesses and strengths, and chosen the best person for the job. He thought he’d been scrupulously fair, but one of the disappointed candidates had immediately written a letter of complaint, suggesting that Paddick had snubbed her because she is a woman and he is – wait for it – gay.

She was right about his sexuality, but Paddick couldn’t believe she’d thought that this played any part in his decision. He told a colleague, who is also gay, expecting he would share his indignation. Instead, the older man roared: “Brian, we’ve arrived! When the straights are lining up against us, you know we’ve arrived!”And so he has.

Paddick, 43, is the borough commander for Lambeth, south London. In his stuffy office on the second floor of Brixton police station, he’s in a jolly mood, chatting about a holiday to Ibiza and the extraordinary nightclubs he visited. Back here in Brixton, he is six months into a campaign to tackle the country’s most dangerous Yardie drug dealers, a task that must be undertaken without upsetting the delicate relationship between the Met and the local black community. By common consent, it’s one of the most difficult jobs in British policing.

Phase one of his grand plan sparked a national debate: he told his officers to issue warnings to people caught in possession of cannabis, rather than arresting them, a softly-softly approach that may be the catalyst for a change in the law. It was a bold move, especially as he hadn’t cleared it with his boss, Scotland Yard’s commissioner Sir John Stevens.

Paddick says his attitude towards the drug is pragmatic rather than liberal, and sidesteps questions about legalisation. He tells the tale of two nightclubs on his patch. One has a reputation for drug-taking. “I don’t have any trouble inside or outside that club, no problems with disorder at all.”

Punters at the other venue pay a flat-rate entrance fee and get free alcohol all night. “I get fights and brawls every weekend.

“I have never known anyone commit crime to fund a cannabis habit… and you never have cases of people being stoned and disorderly.”

Cannabis is the least of his worries. Yardie gangsters, having fled Jamaica, have begun fighting each other in Lambeth, a place regarded as the black capital of Britain. When they are not fighting each other, they are fighting the home-grown drug dealers. And when they are not fighting the locals, they are shooting members of the public who get in their way and police officers who try to arrest them.

Recently, there was a minor car crash in Streatham. One of the drivers, a man, wanted to pay for the damage in cash – the other insisted they should swap insurance details. The former pulled out a gun and fired at the latter – a pregnant woman. She survived, but she was lucky.

This kind of “respect” shooting is increasingly common in Lambeth. Paddick says the gun is considered a compulsory fashion accessory by a certain type of aspiring villain, not just the Yardies. His officers often raid homes and find framed photographs of men posing with their favourite shotguns and revolvers on the mantlepiece.

There are, however, more personal battles to fight. Paddick doesn’t make an issue of the fact that he is gay – he is the highest ranking officer to have “come out” – but others have. These “others” are the sort of people who write anonymous letters to Stevens claiming that Paddick is corrupt, and spread stories about his private life that have proved laughably incorrect. Nevertheless they are still hurtful.

One slur doing the rounds is that Paddick’s partner works for the secret service, and that their relationship is a threat to national security. “In fact, he’s a floor manager of a Gucci store.” Another suggests he recently abandoned his wife, breaking her heart. “Actually, we split up 13 years ago by mutual consent.”

The Met, he says, has made great strides in tackling racism and sexism within the ranks, but is still “a mile behind” in its attempts to address homophobia.

Paddick doesn’t see himself as a role model, but wants junior gay officers to know there is someone near the top of the tree looking out for them. “To begin with, I remember being absolutely terrified that someone would find out. For the first 10 years of my career, I did whatever I could to put people off the scent.” Word got out when he decided to live with his partner. Under police rules, he had to inform a senior officer, who took him to one side and warned that it was inevitable that “people will start talking”. Snide and sly remarks made behind his back became the norm in the staff canteen, even though only one officer in the station had been told he was gay.

When Paddick was moved from south London to Notting Hill, he told his commanding officer that he was gay, but said it was not common knowledge, and asked him to be discreet. He wasn’t. “There was a quiz night at a local pub and I was on a team of senior police managers. One question to our team was: ‘Who is the local MP?’ My boss replied: ‘Oh, he’s that poof.’ Then he reached across the table, grabbed my arm and said: ‘I didn’t mean to offend you, Brian.’ ” When Paddick threatened to make an official complaint, he was moved to another area against his will.

During a posting at New Scotland Yard, Paddick was given another taste of homophobia, this time served by one of the force’s most senior officers. Paddick says he was reading a police magazine, which had caused a furore the previous week by publishing an article that called for gay men and women to be banned from policing.

In the next issue, there were several letters complaining about the story, to the evident astonishment of Paddick’s boss. “When he saw what I was reading, he said: ‘They’re out there Brian, they’re out there!’ I should have replied: ‘And they’re in here as well.’ ”

The decision to “‘come out” was taken earlier this year and was backed by Stevens, who has promised to support him in any skirmishes with homophobes inside and outside the Met.

A series of allegations have been made against Paddick, including a serious accusation of corruption, which was timed to scupper his chances of promotion. An emergency inquiry was launched, which quickly vindicated him, but the promotion panel had to be told that an investigation had been conducted. It was a wearying and worrying time for him, and there is always the fear that mud sticks.

Paddick is resigned to the idea that the higher he rises the more he will become a target. He says that to a certain extent this makes him feel vulnerable. But despite all this, he is not disillusioned or deterred from seeking higher office. Oddly, the force is where he feels safest. “I was bullied at school by boys who suspected I was gay. I always wanted to be part of an organisation that protects people. That’s what we do here. It’s what drives me.”

http://www.guardian.co.uk/crime/article/0,2763,543265,00.html