VIEW FROM NEW YORK STREETS: NO RETREAT BY POLICE

Each time a police cruiser passed, someone in the game room screamed a
curse. Mother this, mother that, on and on. They cranked the rap music to
seismic levels, as if the lyrics -- something about "cracker cops" -- might
make the police leave them alone. But still, the cruisers came. And then an
unmarked Taurus went by. And then a police van with four officers passed.

It was driving the teenagers nuts. They said they felt like ghetto lab
rats. The night before, officers had raided the game room, a dim, grungy
hole of a place on the edge of the Van Dyke projects in Brownsville,
Brooklyn. Hunting for drugs, the officers had smashed open the pool table,
and Qyntel Smith, 19, said she had been hit by pepper spray.

Now, with the sun setting, Ms. Smith and her friends stood at the game room
entrance making highly impolite gestures at passing police cars. A few
officers scowled and responded in kind, making clear their professional
assessments of the game room's young patrons. But Ms. Smith had an
assessment, too.

"The cops," she said, "are not backing off. Not one bit. Never will. It's
still Giuliani time."

Across New York City, in the drug holes and seedy side streets and shadowy
hot spots where crime incubates, the Police Department continues to be seen
as an aggressive force that has not retreated -- not one small inch -- from
its kitchen-sink strategy of attacking crime. In short, most of those who
have substantial contact with police officers do not share the suddenly
popular perception that the Police Department has relaxed its enforcement
tactics in the face of severe criticism.

In interviews last week with about 200 people in all five boroughs, this
view was repeated again and again -- by young gang members and tired
ex-cons, by prostitutes and bodega owners, by scrawny heroin addicts and by
public housing tenants. That perception gained force with the puzzling rise
in murders, including the Wendy's massacre and the slayings of livery
drivers. It gathered more force last week with the fallout from the
frenzied Central Park sexual assaults after the National Puerto Rican Day
Parade. Though hundreds of citations were written for public drinking,
there were reports of officers ignoring rampant drug and alcohol abuse, and
some officers have asserted that the behavior was tolerated to avoid
provoking Hispanics.

True or not -- and police officials say it is not -- people who live and
work in New York City's roughest neighborhoods seem largely in agreement
that they do not see any newfound tolerance of crime. With remarkable
consistency, these residents told similar stories of facing intense
scrutiny from undercover officers, of continuing to be ticketed and
arrested for minor offenses, of officers sweeping through housing projects
and parks, asking for identification and patting down pockets.

Mixed Views on Enforcement For some, especially young black and Hispanic
men, these stories were told with a sense of persecution. But for others,
particularly homeowners and the elderly, the stories were told with relief
- -- so great was their concern that the police might be allowing complacency
or criticism to dampen vigor.

Dozens of these residents cited firsthand experience. Cheryl, a prostitute
working the other night on Nevins Avenue in South Brooklyn, said she was
arrested just the week before. "And they'll be back," she said. On Hillside
Avenue in Jamaica, Queens, a homeless alcoholic said he was ticketed two
weeks ago for public drinking. Hector Rodriguez, 24, a security guard at a
housing project in East Harlem, said he had recently been given a summons
for loitering. On some blocks, just about everyone seems to have a story of
a recent brush with the police.

Taken together, their observations offer an imperfect street-level snapshot
of the department's recent performance. Yet in precinct after precinct,
these individual accounts are supported by the most recent arrest statistics.

A good example is the 75th Precinct, by far the most violent precinct in
Brooklyn. In the 75th, which covers East New York, arrests are up 27.7
percent, from 5,652 at this time last year to 7,220 this year. Major crimes
are down 11.3 percent. The same pattern -- more arrests, more summonses,
fewer crimes -- can be found throughout the city.

As police officials are quick to note, none of this is new. For years, they
have been pursuing the same strategy: using computer analysis of crime
reports to identify trouble spots; sending in special teams of undercover
officers to attack crime in those areas; relentlessly punishing minor
offenses to set a tone of orderliness in the neighborhood. For all the
criticism, for all the concerns raised about racial profiling, for all the
protests over Louima and Diallo and Dorismond, this basic strategy thus far
remains unchanged -- a fact reflected by arrest statistics and, now, by the
experiences of some 200 residents living in neighborhoods struggling with
poverty and crime.

To back off now, Police Commissioner Howard Safir said in an interview,
would be to repudiate the central tenets of the city's policing strategy, a
strategy that has coincided with steep declines in all measures of crime.

"I wouldn't stay here if we were backing off," Mr. Safir said. But he also
disputed that there had been any unspoken retreat by the rank and file,
noting that his department had made 21,000 more arrests this year than it
had last year at this time. "That's not indicative of a police force that
is falling asleep or backing off," he said.

In the neighborhoods that suffer the most from drugs and violence, there is
a familiar cycle to crime and policing and public perception. It begins
with a clear recognition of how far the neighborhoods have come from the
bad old days of mayhem, and close behind is a deep fear of sliding back to
that time. The result is a sort of heightened communal vigilance for the
latest flare spots, and a general impatience for the police to get things
under control.

Such was the case last week in Mount Hope, a tiny neighborhood just north
of the Cross Bronx Expressway in the South Bronx, where crack gangs once
ruled. For some time now, retirees there have complained to the 46th
Precinct police about drug dealing in front of a row house at Topping
Avenue and East 175th Street. Their complaints were part of a broader
restlessness, a sense that the police were not doing enough to preserve the
gains of the early 1990's.

"They used to pass by and they'd see a group of people loitering and they'd
tell them, 'Stop,' " said Edwin L. Santana, 45, a truck driver who has
lived in the neighborhood for 20 years. "They would check and say, 'What
are you guys doing here?' "

And this is how Jay Nuez, 17, and his buddies came to have such a rough
time of it on Thursday night.

The first time the police came around, officers jumped from their patrol
car, forced Mr. Nuez and his friends against a fence and patted them down
for drugs. The officers left empty-handed, the young men said. But the next
time the officers swooped down, they ticketed Randy Figueroa, one of Mr.
Nuez's companions, for drinking a beer on the street. At other times, the
police in marked or unmarked cars and vans simply rolled by.

The men denied they were selling drugs, though John Ramirez, 21, said he
was on parole for heroin dealing, and Mr. Nuez said he had been arrested
for possession of marijuana. "It's nothing," Mr. Nuez said. "You spend the
night in jail."

At 10 p.m., the police were back yet again, this time in an unmarked white
van. Four burly officers peered out at the young men. "Yo! Yo! What'chu
looking at?" one young man yelled. The others jeered, slapping each other
and laughing. Mr. Nuez chimed in: "Yeah, that's right, we're talking about
you, pigs."

But the bravado did not mask their agitation. The corner may have its
rewards, but now, because of the police, it carried a price, too. Getting
searched for drugs is a nightly occurrence. Mr. Figueroa, 22, complained
that he was ticketed on this night for parking his red sports car too close
to the corner. Suddenly, another unmarked police car, a black sedan, drove
past. "Here they go again," Mr. Nuez said.

Amid Crackdown, Resentment

Since the start of the year, officers in the 46th Precinct have handed out
twice as many criminal summonses as they did by this time last year.
Arrests for drugs and other crimes are also way up. But all this extra
effort leads to another part of the familiar cycle -- simmering resentment
from young people who have no criminal record but feel like targets
nonetheless. "They see you with chains, they think you're selling drugs,"
said Jose Alvarez, 19, as he fiddled with the speakers and amplifiers in
his Acura. "They don't know young people get up in the morning just like
they do and go to work."

Mr. Alvarez, who said he worked at Toys "R" Us in Mount Olive, N.J.,
complained about being stopped again and again by the police in Mount Hope
and asked about drugs. He complained about being ticketed for playing his
music too loud, about being harassed for simply hanging out with friends.
"They bother you for everything," he said. "If I stand in front of that
building, they come and tell you to move. If you don't move, they arrest you."

Across the city, just north of Kennedy Airport, the same pattern has played
out on Guy R. Brewer Boulevard, a street that cuts through the 113th
Precinct in Queens.

This year, though, serious crimes are up about 6 percent, evoking bad
memories. The precinct has responded with a 21 percent increase in arrests,
and a 51 percent increase in criminal summonses.

Frank Moore, a barber on Guy R. Brewer Boulevard, does not know the
numbers, but he has been around long enough, 10 years, to have a sixth
sense for his neighborhood's rhythms. He senses that crime has been
creeping back. He also senses that the precinct has responded forcefully.

In recent months, he complained, officers have kept pulling him over,
asking for his identification and registration. Certainly, he said, he does
not want the neighborhood to slip back into the old mess, but neither does
he want ham-fisted policing. And so, he said, he feels stuck between two
unpleasant alternatives: wanting police protection yet resenting its
consequences.

"I'm not upset by just seeing the police," he said, "but it's the nitpicking"

When Hot Spots Change Not far away, in Jamaica, perceptions about the
Police Department are being subtly shaped by local tactical decisions that
have nothing to do with City Hall politics, or with protests by the Rev. Al
Sharpton, or with the latest police shooting.

In Jamaica, the department's practice of concentrating officers on hot
spots has created a remarkable situation in which two neighborhoods barely
two miles apart have entirely different notions about the department's
level of aggressiveness. In one neighborhood, a short strip off Hillside
Avenue, some residents and merchants feel all but abandoned. In the other
neighborhood, near Jamaica Avenue, some residents feel an overwhelming
police presence.

To understand why, a little history: Several years back, gangs and drug
dealers swarmed along Hillside. The police responded in force, harassing
and arresting the dealers and gang members until the corner was clear.
Residents were overjoyed; shopkeepers could not believe their good fortune.
With a job well done, police commanders pulled officers out and sent them
to the next hot spot.

For a time all was well. Then Luis Cruz, the owner of One Touch
Transmission, found his shop burglarized. Then it happened again, and again
after that. Nurul M. Islam, owner of a small grocery store, began to see
more thieves in his store. Only a few months ago, he said, a drunken man
stumbled in and began smashing bottles. And then Lori Vargas, a resident,
realized that she no longer felt safe walking outside at night. "There's no
one out there," she said.

To their eyes, the department had backed off. In fact, the police have been
preoccupied with a new hot spot off Jamaica Avenue. Residents there had
been complaining about drug dealers operating out of the Crystal Houses, a
run-down housing project on 191st Street.

For residents in that area, this has brought a heavy police presence.
Officers have set up motorist checkpoints to inspect licenses and
registrations. They often park a patrol car near the Crystal Houses. "The
place is crawling with cops," said Paul Chester, who lives not far away.
"They stop you for anything now. They are all over the place. You can see
them lurking around, slowing down and checking this out."

Late Thursday night, a dozen or so young men were gathered in front of the
Crystal Houses. Smoking marijuana and drinking beer out of brown paper
bags, they complained of the constant police presence on their "front
lawn." Most of them said they had been arrested at least once, for minor
drug offenses or disorderly conduct. Several said they had been in court in
just the last week. "If they could arrest you for spitting in the street,
they would arrest you every time you spat in the street," said Derramius
Edwards, 22, who described himself as a music major at Queensborough
Community College.

As midnight approached, two detectives approached in an unmarked car. They
stopped when they got to Mr. Edwards and his friends. The detective on the
passenger side stared at Mr. Edwards but said nothing. The car moved on.
Twenty minutes later, another unmarked car crept down the street, this one
carrying five detectives. It, too, paused by Mr. Edwards and then kept
going. Just before midnight, the first car returned, stopping in the same
place. The detective in the passenger seat slowly shined a flashlight
across their faces. Nobody said a word. The car drove on. Mr. Edwards and
company stayed put.

Where Pressure Is Most Intense There are forsaken places in the city where
the pressure from the police has been so relentless and longstanding that
logic itself has been inverted by the criminals. These are the places where
the police are seen as the cause of criminal activity, so smothering and
inflexible that they make it impossible for a man to go straight. They are
neighborhoods where the hostility is so seeped in that it is difficult for
ordinary residents t express even mild support for the department's
aggressive strategy.

And so an elderly Hispanic woman who lives on a drug-ravaged street in
Sunset Park, Brooklyn, whispered from her living room window Wednesday
night that it was no good to say anything about the police. And in the
Manhattanville housing project in Harlem, a 21-year-old man named Cgod
Godallah, better known by his nickname, Can't Get Right, somehow finds
fault with the police for arresting him yet again. "We were hanging out,
just chilling, smoking some weed," he said, as if all he were doing were
drinking a glass of milk. And in Washington Square Park, a stoned
21-year-old drug dealer who called himself Smoke ran about raging against
the police, shouting, "Before I die I'm going to blow up a precinct!"

A day later, in the shade of a housing project in the Clifton section of
Staten Island, a 38-year-old ex-convict named Eric quietly raged, too,
blaming the police scrutiny for driving him back to crime. "They come out
and ask for your identification and find out who's on parole, and then they
target you," he said. "They bring you in saying, you did this before and
you must be doing it again. Well, 9 out of 10 of us have a record. So it's
easy for them. They're just pushing you and pushing you until you do end up
breaking the law. They're jumping down on us, and it makes you want to
throw a brick."