Demand outpaces funding on reserves
Old equipment, widening salary gap for First Nations cops
Frantic calls for backup that go unanswered, cops wearing worn out bulletproof vests and a pay scale that discourages officers from staying on the job.
These are some of the obstacles that plague officers serving in Quebec’s remote aboriginal police departments, according to six veteran cops interviewed by the Montreal Gazette. Three of the officers did not want their names published for fear it might affect their future job prospects.
Calls for improved working conditions come just days after the shooting death of constable Thierry Leroux — a 26-year-old who was killed last Saturday while patrolling in the Lac Simon First Nation, south of Val-d’Or. Meanwhile, a report released Thursday by the province’s ombudsman points to failed crime prevention strategies in the Nunavik region (home to the majority of Quebec’s Inuit population).
The document tracks a 239-percent increase in cases before Nunavik’s court system over the past decade. It links the spike in crime to a lack of accessible substance abuse treatment and other essential government services.
And while the workload for aboriginal police forces is only increasing, their resources can’t keep up with the demand — according to senior police sources.
“We’re supposed to replace our bulletproof vests every five years, without fail, but our department can’t always afford that,” said Sgt. Éric Cutnam, a 10-year veteran of the Opitciwan police department in the Haute-Mauricie region. “So you’ll get a situation where maybe the vest has to last you six years, maybe it has to last you seven. We’re talking about a $750 expense but it’s something that could save your life.”
Two aboriginal cops contacted by the Montreal Gazette spoke of wearing expired safety equipment with one claiming he mended the fabric on his bulletproof vest with duct tape and safety pins.
“It’s the same with training. We’re supposed to be certified for firearm use every 12 months but I’ve seen us get a few months past that deadline,” said Cutnam. “These are basic job skills for a police officer. I know we do good work, we work hard, we love the job, we want to help people but too often it’s a case of let’s try to push it and do more with what we have.”
Recruiting and retaining talented officers is another challenge in Quebec First Nations. The starting salary on most aboriginal police forces is about $41,000 per year — which matches the wages offered by the Sûreté du Québec. But over time the wage gap between SQ officers and constables on reserves widens considerably.
After five years on the job, an SQ officer earns $70,973 a year while their colleagues on reserves take home about $47,000 annually. The three First Nation departments who provided statistics to the Montreal Gazette operate with a 12-year pay scale, which maxes out at $53,000 per year.
“My budget has been flat for about 10 years,” says Raynald Malec, chief of police for the Uashat and Maliotenam First Nations near Sept-Îles. “Just to keep up with salaries we have to skimp on training and equipment. We don’t even have a (breathalyzer) machine, we recently borrowed one from the SQ.”
In contrast, Montreal’s police budget increased by 41 per cent between 2005 and 2015. Though it’s hardly scientific to compare a small department with the province’s largest municipal police force, budget increases are common in non-Aboriginal communities.
The 12-officer Uashat police force gets $1.6 million per year in funding split between the provincial and federal government — Canada pays 52 per cent with Quebec covering the rest. Malec says his officers face a unique set of challenges on a reserve grappling with suicide and mental illness.
Last year, there were four suicides in the small community, 16 suicide attempts and police had to intervene in 122 cases where people were in the throes of a mental health crisis.
The majority of Quebec’s 43 indigenous communities are policed by an aboriginal department. The federal and provincial government share funding responsibilities and adjust their contributions based on the reserve’s population, its level of criminality, its social problems and other factors.
Because of overcrowded housing conditions, chronic poverty and a disproportionately young population, officers in First Nations tend to see a lot of violent crime. Many First Nations thrive despite grappling with the legacy of residential schools, but rates of criminality are higher in isolated reserves.
“I’ve been accused of inflating our crime statistics but most of what we see is violent crime. You just can’t fake that, you can’t fake suicide attempts and aggravated assaults,” said Christian Awashish, Grand Chief of the Opitciwan First Nation.
While all of Quebec’s municipal and provincial police belong to labour unions, the majority of the province’s aboriginal cops aren’t covered by a collective agreement. This, despite the fact that they are qualified officers who graduated from the same police academy, the École Nationale de la Police.
“For non-native police officers on reserves, it’s basically a revolving door, you’re in and your out,” said one police source, who worked for two aboriginal police departments before moving on to a job in the city. “The work conditions aren’t great, the salary isn’t great and there’s opportunity elsewhere. So these departments — who are doing the best they can — keep having to train new recruits all the time. There’s no incentive to stay and serve.”
Recounting his time patrolling a remote reserve, the officer spoke of an armed standoff in which his partner was shot. While his partner bled from the leg and face, the officer exchanged gunfire with the suspect, holding on for hours until backup could arrive.
“Sometimes there’s no backup,” he said. “You can call but there’s nobody there ... Working in a city now, I’m happy that when I push my panic button on my radio, someone’s going to be there pretty quick.”
Quebec’s Public Security Department did not respond to questions sent by the Montreal Gazette on Thursday.