Police uniform is part of my identity
I’m a gay officer who just wanted to show support,
I don’t make it a practice of crying out in the open, or really crying in general for that matter. But I must admit, in one short year I’ve already responded to a few calls that would make any ordinary person shed tears.
For the sake of transparency, I’m a police officer and while I do not work for the Ottawa Police Service, I have sat on its GLBT liaison committee for nearly a decade. I have a husband and a oneyear-old daughter at home and we are raising this beautiful girl to call us “Daddy” and “Papa.”
Last year when my husband and I adopted our daughter, our priority became that little girl. I wasn’t a police officer then; I didn’t work in law enforcement, I worked in a job sitting behind a desk, which is something I swore I would never do. After a lot of discussion with my husband, we took a leap, we followed my dream; I was sworn in in the province of Ontario as a police constable, and now I do what I love. I help those who can’t help themselves and I try desperately to make sure I run towards the danger when everyone is running away from it.
I’m not crying today because of a call I went to; I’m crying because of a call that I didn’t really expect to receive. Today I was told that I would not be allowed to march in the Capital Pride parade. (Excuse me: I’m allowed to march, just not in my uniform.)
Even though this community is engrossed with the principles of identity, I, and many others like me, have just been told that a part of our identity isn’t welcome to be proud.
Sixteen days a month, my family, comprised of my husband and daughter, remain in Ottawa and sacrifice our time together at home as I go and police in Canada’s North for the betterment of community. I wear a uniform in some capacity for 16 consecutive days a month, in excess of 16 hours a day. I can assure you, it’s a part of my identity! Ottawa Pride may say “We only banned the uniform,” but it just banned the largest part of my identity — and the identity of the people who support change from within the most. You banned the identity of the allies in Pride, the allies of persons of colour and the allies of those in marginalized communities; you did not simply ban a uniform.
The irony in this, of course, is that while Capital Pride expects police officers to stand on the sidelines providing security for its event, the officers who choose to march with them, and who are in fact their strongest allies, are not welcome to celebrate this year: openly gay officers who have worked for decades to make inroads in police organizations when, not so long ago, those same officers were forced into a closet for fear of being fired for something as little as who they slept with.
Last week, I spoke with an officer who fought for her country in Afghanistan, and while her story is not mine to tell, it should be noted that prior to 1992, the Canadian Armed Forces would fire you for being gay. These are the allies whom Capital Pride has just said are not allowed to march with them.
I could easily come up with a million seemingly selfish reasons to get mad at Capital Pride organizers, but I have just one. This year was supposed to be special for me. This year I would march hand-in-hand with my husband and our daughter, probably wearing a boa, beads or that little patch that says “POLICE” in rainbow colours on my vest. This year was my first chance in my new role as Daddy and my new role as Constable to say to my daughter that this amazing community, built on the principles of inclusion and identity, supports us as a family. Look at how far we’ve come when an openly gay, married police officer, his husband and their daughter could march hand-in-hand without anyone batting an eye. I could tell her how much the world has changed.
But alas, Capital Pride, you just proved that it hasn’t.