A few rotten apples?
We have reached new heights of absurdity in the ongoing police saga in this country, with the latest stories accusing police officers of forcing foreign bar workers to give them oral sex in their patrol cars; engaging in homosexual acts with strangers and drinking beer while they were supposed to be on patrol for the hooded man who has been terrorising Nicosia known as the Drakos.
Police have issued a statement about the incidents, saying that since there are 5,500 policemen in Cyprus it is only natural that there are “a few rotten apples among them” but I feel like Lois Lane. Hello, something keeps on saying in my head, these are not just a few rotten apples we are dealing with, I am afraid. It is the whole attitude problem, it is the crazy, macho we-can-do-whatever-we-want belief.
Now, I have never been forced to perform an oral sex act with a local policeman (and believe me, it is not really my dream to either) but I do have some experience of dealing with these guys and although not the most harmful, they have not been the most pleasant either.
The first story took place about five years ago, shortly after I arrived on the island. I was taking a taxi from Larnaca to Nicosia late at night and didn’t like the fact that the taxi driver decided to take a short cut through Ayia Napa.
“You have gone the wrong way,” I said. “I am not going to pay any extra money.”
The taxi driver looked at me as if I was the rotten apple and told me to get out of the car in the middle of the motorway. I refused. He threatened me with the police. We started driving again. I – certain that I was right, and he – certain that a policeman would deal with me. We found one. The taxi driver explained something to him in Greek. The policeman asked for my passport, examined it carefully, and started to instruct me on how I should have behaved. I took my press card out, and he suddenly stopped lecturing. He said something to the taxi driver and then turned to me again.
“It is all sorted,” he said. And off we went. This is, I think, called the power of press.
The second encounter happened about a year ago at the Ayios Domestios crossing. I was coming back from the north, driving 10 kilometres per hour inside the buffer zone and, wrongly I admit, checking messages on my mobile. A young policeman jumped out of the tent at the checkpoint. “50 pounds fine,” he screamed.
I tried to argue. After all I wasn’t talking. I was just holding the phone in my hand. I said, “I think you are exaggerating because you don’t like the fact you see me here every day.”
“You are insulting me,” he shouted again. “I am going to arrest you. I don’t care, I really don’t care. I can do whatever I want, believe me.”
“OK,” I answered. “I am calling my lawyer.” I started calling. I was lucky. A lawyer friend happened to be passing very close to the crossing so he came within ten minutes, and once he arrived there was no more talk of an arrest. But what would have happened if the lawyer hadn’t been there? Would the policeman have had guts to detain me over night for insulting him? I really have no idea. But why not, if he really was able to? I am alone in this country. Nobody would even notice that I didn’t come home.
The third incident happened few months ago to a friend who got beaten up by her Cypriot boyfriend. She reported him to the police and they registered her complaint.
But the woman was a foreigner and the man had good connections within the system. Next day she received a phone call from the police station. They wanted an additional statement. She went in and they asked her to sign a paper saying that she would never bother her boyfriend again. My friend walked out of the station and went straight to a lawyer but since when, may I ask, do police officers think they have the right to act in such a way in physical abuse cases? The answer is obvious, of course. Since never. But we are in Cyprus, and we are the god here, and we don’t really care, is the right answer.
