‘Why are you here?’ No one had told them I was Black
Facing the police selection board felt like a gunslinger walking into an unfriendly saloon
Keith Merith, who rose through the ranks of York Regional Police, writes about the racism and other challenges he faced, and how he fought to change the system. As recounted in this excerpt from “A Darker Shade of Blue: A Police Officer’s Memoir,” his law enforcement career had an inauspicious beginning.
In 1980, I graduated from Humber College Institute with a diploma in Law and Security Administration along with an Advanced Police certificate. I felt I was ready to meet the challenge of becoming a police officer.
I set about putting in my application to the Peel Regional Police.
I was soon called for testing. I passed. I was then summoned for an interview. I passed. The next phase was a background investigation that was positive, advancing me to the final stage: to appear before a selection board committee. This was really happening.
I went out and bought a dark blue, badass three-piece power suit complete with wide pinstripes. Yeah, there was a bit of a flare going on at the bottom of the pants, but it was still professional. I topped it off with a crisp white shirt and dark tie. It was the ’80s, so platform shoes were the choice of the day.
Understanding the conservative nature of the service, I opted for moderate soles that were not too high but would keep that soul groove going. And let’s not forget the afro. Nice and tight and rounded to perfection.
I arrived at police headquarters early and positioned myself outside an office. When my time came, a sergeant brought me into the boardroom. Have you seen the old western movies where the gunslinger walks through the saloon doors and the whole place comes to a halt? The music stops, the card games stop, and everyone stares at the newcomer? Well, that’s the best way I can describe my experience.
Four senior officers were sitting at a table side by side, with a chair in front of them. When they saw me, their chatter immediately stopped. I remember the instant cold looks of surprise on their faces. It was obvious that no one had told them I was Black.
There was no hello or greeting of any kind. I was told by the sergeant to take a seat, the one in front of the panel. Four older white men — all senior officers — and me. They all had English, Scottish or Irish accents. I sat up straight and ready. I had prepared extensively and was not about to foul up this opportunity.
Without the benefit of an introduction or lead-up, the first question directed to me was “Why are you here?”
My careful response was that I have had a burning desire to serve in the capacity of a police officer working with the community contributing to the betterment of the —
My answer was cut short by the same interviewer restating the question: “No, why are you here?” Oh, OK, I got it now. I stated that the Peel Regional Police was one of the premier police organizations in the country and progressive in their approach to policing, that I wanted to be part of an institution that was making a positive contribution to its citizens —
“No! Why are you here in front of us?!”
Oh, f-. Did he just say that? Yes, he did. At this point, I was lost. I started to say something about working hard and preparing for the selection board interview but was immediately dismissed, sent away from their esteemed presence. The same sergeant led me out of the room to sit in the same waiting area outside the office.
The whole interview had lasted approximately three to five minutes. A short time later, the sergeant emerged from inside the boardroom and told me my interview had not been successful. I thanked him and said I understood that if one is not successful after this stage of the process, one would be able to try again in a year’s time, and I would do exactly that.
His words still haunt me to this day. He said, “The board has decided that you are never to apply to the Peel Regional Police Service again.”
I felt an immediate pain in my stomach. I left the building and located my car in the parking lot. I sat in my car, unable to move. The tears flowed down my face uncontrollably, I couldn’t stop them. The pain was so intense. I hurt.
I sat in that car for more than 40 minutes, trying to make sense of what I had just experienced. No matter what my vision was, no matter what plan I had put into place, no matter how prepared for the opportunity, the hue of my skin was a little bit too “rich” for their liking. Racism 1, optimism 0.
I eventually pulled myself together and decided not to allow those bastards and people like them to determine my future. From that day forward, I doubled down on my tenacity and perseverance, understanding that the times were against me but losing was not an option. It was six years and 13 police departments later, including major services such as Toronto, Durham, Halton, Guelph, Waterloo, Niagara and the RCMP, before I was eventually hired as a police officer with the York Regional Police. The year was 1986.
York was my preferred choice of services, as the department had real growth potential, which would give me the opportunity to advance within the organization. I was 28, married to my beautiful, intellectually astute soulmate and life partner, Cheryl Dawn Merith. We lived in Mississauga at the time.
The job came about after a ninemonth application process, which I believe was somewhat standard for the times, culminating in a selection board interview in front of a number of senior commanding officers. However, a hiccup during the process almost derailed my success.
While in the background investigative stage, a recruiter told me to report to 1 District station to get my picture taken and then attend a scheduled doctor’s assessment immediately after. The doctor’s office was a short distance away. A time had been given to me, and I made sure I was at the station early.
As I approached the front desk, an officer pointed to the corner of the counter and told me to sign the book. When I looked at the book, it was for people on recognizance (required
His words still haunt me to this day. He said, ‘The board has decided that you are never to apply to the Peel Regional Police Service again’
by the courts to report to a police station as part of their release conditions). I jokingly said to the officer, “No, no, wrong person. I’m here to have my photo taken as part of the recruitment application to join the service.” He was not pleased, to say the least. He ordered me to take a seat in the lobby area and wait. So, that’s what I did.
Ten minutes later, I went back to the counter and spoke to that same officer and told him I was also scheduled to see the YRP doctor within the next 35 minutes. He barked at me, telling me to take a seat and wait. Twenty minutes had now passed, and this officer had not so much as looked in my direction. Now very concerned, I convinced myself to make another approach to get an idea of when I could expect my photo to be taken.
Visibly upset, the officer said that he had contacted the Identification Bureau and it was up to them to come and get me. I sat back down in distress. I was fully aware that promptness is a virtue respected by police organizations, and being late for my next appointment would be frowned upon. Several minutes later, a sergeant came out of one of the rooms and was passing by. I found the courage to ask him if he could help me get my picture taken due to my circumstance. His words to me were, “Sure, come with me.”
He walked me into the building, down some stairs, and introduced me to the identification officer, who had no idea I was here but knew someone was scheduled. He had never been notified that I was waiting at the front desk. He immediately took my picture and walked me out of the station. I just barely made my next appointment on time.
I remember going home and telling my wife about what had just transpired, wondering if this was another indication of what I would be exposed to when — not if — I’d be hired by a police service. What the hell was I getting myself into?