Remi Joseph-Salisbury and Katy Sian (NPMP)

This article is from NPMP’s annual magazine. You can see the full magazine online, and order physical copies here.

Greater Manchester Police (GMP) have recently come under unprecedented scrutiny. In December 2020, an investigation into the force found ‘serious cause for concern’. The force was placed into special measures, and along with negative media coverage, a range of changes followed. Most notable among these was the introduction of a new Chief Constable, and the setting out of GMP’s ‘strategic delivery plan’ and ‘promises to the public’. 

GMP’s placement in special measures was the culmination of a series of concerns raised over several years. In 2016, the force was deemed to be inadequate in terms of the recording of crime. A subsequent report in 2018 found that the force still required improvement in several key areas, particularly regarding its service to ‘vulnerable victims of crime’, including the recording of rape crimes and domestic abuse (see Connelly, article five of the magazine). In 2019, concerns were again raised that the force was putting ‘victims’ and vulnerable people at risk. It was suggested that, despite needing to improve, GMP’s performance had declined further since the last inspection. It was in this context that the 2020 report found over 80,000 crimes had gone unrecorded over the latest one-year period. 

Recognition that GMP is in crisis should be welcomed, as should increased public scrutiny of police forces. However, a narrow focus on faulty computer systems and crime (under)recording practices obscures the true nature of the crisis. 

The socio-political backdrop of the 2020 Black Lives Matter uprisings, alongside the protests following the police murder of Sarah Everard, and ongoing Kill the Bill mobilisations signal a more fundamental crisis. This reframed understanding of ‘crisis’ draws our attention to endemic racism, sexism, and violence in policing. It also points to the devastating effects of the persistent criminalisation of certain communities, and to an institution that stands in the way of the pursuit of social justice. This is evident in the brutal tasering of Desmond Ziggy Mombeyarara in front of his young son, in the growing number of killings following police pursuits (see Pimblott, article six of the magazine), and in the persistent efforts to undermine and thwart social movements. 

This stark contrast in definitions of ‘crisis’ is significant because it shapes proposed solutions, outcomes and implementation. GMP’s response has been to adopt a ‘tough on crime’ stance, with promises of a ‘relentless’ pursuit of ‘criminals’, more policing, and more arrests and ‘high-profile operations’. 

However, taking heed of the crisis as recognised by social movements allows us to see that rising authoritarianism and criminalisation will deepen, rather than address, the fundamental crisis of policing and the crises caused by policing. And, as the impact of the expansion of police powers under Covid attests (see Harris, article 2 of the magazine), increased and tougher policing will be felt most harshly by minoritised communities, those who historically and presently remain at the sharp end of policing. The new Chief Constable’s forceful denial of the presence of institutional racism in the force, even in the face of insurmountable evidence, suggests he and his force will be ill-equipped and unwilling to recognize and address these issues as they deepen. Indeed, the issue of institutional racism in GMP continues to be brushed aside, with superficial ad campaigns to recruit more people of colour and women. These empty gestures are merely cosmetic, unable to tackle the structural issues of embedded racism and sexism that persist.

By turning to the uprisings and cross-community mass mobilisations of recent years we can see that solutions to the fundamental crisis of policing cannot be solved by having more police on our streets, or through superficial measures that fail to address decades of discrimination and violence in the force. Rather, we need to question the logic that sees us repeatedly turn to the police to solve social problems. This is what is invoked by calls to ‘defund the police’: calls to shift power and resources away from policing and into the development of supportive social infrastructures, particularly in communities that have been most deprived by austerity and an unjust economic system. 

When we think critically about the role of the police, we see that the very ‘victims’ of crime that GMP claims to want to serve are better supported through the funding of women’s centres, youth clubs, community centres, mentoring schemes, counselling and mental health services, and community-driven and led programmes. Of course, there is a need for us to remain critical about how oppressive tendencies can (and do) manifest in these spaces too, particularly those tied to the state, but this is an ongoing task. 

The answer in tackling the police crisis lies not with more policing or diversity recruitment drives. Rather, it centres on investing in marginalised communities to empower and enrich them. For too long, these communities have been overpoliced, harassed and subjected to violence by GMP. And while we are doing the long-haul work of imagining, building and resourcing alternative institutions, we need to fight back against efforts to expand police powers via the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill, the encroachment of police in schools and universities (see Virgo, article 11 of the magazine), and the rising militarisation of the police. We must also continue to develop our survival programmes in the form of police monitoring, collective solidarities and  community empowerment. 

LAURA CONNELLY (NPMP)

This article is from NPMP’s annual magazine. You can see the full magazine online, and order physical copies here.

From the state-facilitated kidnap, rape and murder of Sarah Everard and the Metropolitan Police’s brutality towards women attending the vigil in her honour, to the degrading and sexist treatment of Bibaa Henry and Nicole Smallman’s bodies, recent events have shone a light on police violence against women.

These events – alongside a resistance movement sparked by a rallying cry from Sisters Uncut – have attracted the attention of a wider public to the long-standing problems of state sanctioned harm and institutional misogyny in the police (see Begum, article one). These problems are both deep-rooted and endemic. They’re often felt most by those from racially minoritised communities, those with precarious immigration status, and/or those belonging to other marginalised populations, such as sex workers.

In response to rising public concern over physical and sexual violence against women, Greater Manchester Police (GMP) has instructed officers to “do more to reassure the public, particularly women and girls, that [they] are here to protect”. But we would be foolish to listen to their reassurances, for GMP has a long history of misogyny, racism and violence.

GMP did not protect Jackie Berkeley, a 20-year-old Black woman who accused two male officers of rape whilst two women officers restrained her, at Moss Side police station in 1984. Instead, they detained her for longer than legally required, preventing collection of physical evidence of the rape. Despite being able to identify three of the four perpetrators in a line-up and the fourth from a description of his clothing, Jackie was held up in court on charges of wasting police time and making a false complaint. In court, the prosecution set about assassinating Jackie’s character and, using the four officers’ (contradictory) testimonies, constructing a web of lies that resulted not only in the conviction of Jackie but – as Gus John, member of the Jackie Berkeley Defence Committee, describes – the psychological destruction of Jackie.

GMP-perpetrated sexual violence is not, however, confined to the past. According to data obtained under the Freedom of Information Act, there have been allegations of sexual misconduct against 158 serving GMP officers in the past five years. The number of allegations against GMP is higher than that for any other police force in England and Wales. In November 2019, a GMP officer was found guilty at a misconduct hearing of sexual assault, one count of assault by penetration, twelve counts of voyeurism and two counts of taking indecent images of children. At a hearing in June 2021, it was found that an officer “gained authorised access to police data regarding known sex workers, one of whom the officer then met”. We know from organisations such as the English Collective of Prostitutes that police too often abuse their power to demand free sex, steal sex workers’ money or perpetrate violence with impunity. Unsurprisingly, the state has taken up the well-worn ‘few bad apples’ narrative to explain away officers’ violence against women, but the systemic nature of the problem also manifests in GMP’s treatment of women when they experience victimisation. A recent Inspectorate report found that GMP fails to record more than one in four reported violent crimes, with particularly notable recording gaps concerning domestic abuse, harassment, stalking and coercive control – harms known to be gendered in nature. Victim-blaming attitudes among officers are rife, and contribute to women’s reluctance to report victimisation: a recent poll by YouGov found that 96% of women aged 18-24 who had experienced sexual harassment chose not to report it to the police.

In response to an awakening to institutional misogyny in the police, some, including women ex-officers, have pointed the finger at gender imbalances in the police, with two-thirds of officers across all ranks being male. But we must be clear: just as more Black officers won’t end institutional racism, more women officers won’t end institutional misogyny and the police perpetration of violence against women. To think that it will is to grossly underestimate how deeply embedded misogyny is in the culture, policies and operations of (the institution of) the police, and wrongly assume that gendered solidarity exists between women police officers and the women that they police. More women officers won’t end state-sanctioned violence against women but it will create the dangerous illusion of change and, in turn, legitimise the police.

The police have proven time and again, not only that they are ill-equipped to protect women, but also that they are quick to abuse their status to engage in violence against women and girls. With this in mind, we must resist calls for new laws and ‘better’ policing to address the epidemic of sexual violence and harassment. That Sarah Everard’s rapist and murderer probably used his knowledge of Covid police powers (alongside his warrant card and police-issued handcuffs) demonstrates the inherent problem of giving the police more powers, particularly for women and those from marginalised groups – a point that is particularly pertinent as police are set to receive more powers through the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill (see Sisters Uncut Mcr, article 12).

Just as the Jackie Berkeley Defence Committee organised around GMP’s sexual violence and brutality in the 1980s, we will continue to play our part today in a growing and powerful anti-racist and feminist infrastructure to fight back in Greater Manchester and beyond. The police cannot keep us safe, but by coupling the development of a strong resistance movement with community-based programmes for public safety, we – collectively – can.