TURNING THE VICTIMS INTO PRISONERS

Drug Addicts Break Into Our Homes And Steal To Fuel Their Habit; Why Should
We Swallow Our Anger And Barricade Ourselves Inside?

My grandmother's engagement ring is gone, along with a double string of
pearls, matching bracelet and earrings and my grandfather's gold ring --
the only memento I have from a man who died before I was born.

The diamond necklace my parents gave me for my 30th birthday was taken as
well as many other bits and pieces of jewelry given to me over the years by
family.

There's probably more missing. I haven't had time to collect my thoughts
enough to be certain. It's like playing that childhood game of looking at a
tray full of objects for a minute or two and then trying to remember each
one. Only I can't lift the cover off the tray and see the things ever again.

The broken window on the ground floor has been repaired. The insurance
company called. Our strata council notified along with the property
management firm. We're sorting through our options for a security system --
of course, it's a bit late for that.

I'm both angry and bitter about the break-in by thieves who the police
suspect are drug addicts living nearby.

They figure it was done by addicts because all they took was jewelry. No
TVs, no stereo equipment, not even cameras.

The expression that misery loves company is of no consolation to me or to
my three friends who have had break-ins within the past few weeks.

Like me, one had jewelry stolen. His thief or thieves came up a trellis to
the second floor and got through a locked window without having to break
it. And it all happened in daylight.

The other two were at home when robbers got in.

One was awakened around 4 a.m. by his barking cockapoo. He staggered out of
bed just in time to frighten a man trying to force his way through the main
floor window.

My other friend's security alarm went off as the thieves came in after
somehow having managed to get through a locked patio door on the ground
floor. She charged down the stairs screaming like a banshee with her little
Schnauzer barking like mad.

All of us live in condos in the West End/Kits/Fairview neighbourhoods.

I mentioned this to Mayor Larry Campbell and I even told him that I was
impressed that an officer came within 40 minutes of calling 911. The mayor
mentioned that his assistant had also recently had a break-in. Campbell
mused that maybe it was something he should look into.

Yes. He should. Both as mayor and as chair of the police board.

I tried to keep this break-in in perspective. No one was hurt. Things were
missing. It could have been worse.

I tried swallowing my anger -- even though the police officer who responded
to the 911 call and the officer who subsequently came to take fingerprints
told me that I should be angry and that property crime is important, it
isn't a victimless crime.

They told me they think it's too often brushed aside by citizens as not
important. So unimportant, they said, that often after break-ins,
neighbours will say that they had seen someone suspicious wandering around
and didn't bother to call the police.

But I couldn't maintain that perspective. A few days later, I parked my car
outside our office in a no stopping zone -- there is no loading zone --
just long enough to run upstairs, grab a file from the library and a file
folder to put it in.

(And yes, I know I should not have done that.)

But within the 10 minutes or less that it took to do that, not only was my
car ticketed, it was towed.

I furiously walked the 12 blocks down Granville to the Buster's lot.

Along the way, I passed two grubby-looking guys. One was holding out a
small baggy of marijuana for the other to examine. In the few seconds that
it took for me to pass them, the deal was done.

It is somewhat irrational to think that if cars can be ticketed and towed
so efficiently that police ought to be able to do a better job of getting
dealers, thieves and robbers off the streets. But I can't help it.

I hate it that family heirlooms have been stolen and will be sold for
nowhere near their real value (to say nothing of their sentimental value)
by some drug addict to a pawnshop.

I hate it that, somehow, there is no lenience for people who break the law
in their hurry to get through their work day, yet drug deals are done in
plain view on Vancouver's busiest streets.

I hate it that those drug deals happen with such regularity that police
can't seem to keep up and that citizens don't report the dealers to police
any more than they report suspicious-looking prowlers.

And I hate it that my friends and I are advised to lock ourselves in, bar
our windows and hunker down behind expensive security systems.

We're turning the victims into prisoners.