DRUGS IN THE PARK

What should you do if you see people taking drugs in the park? Speak up or
walk away? Mark Hodkinson tried to protest

The father sitting next to me on the park bench pointed to a group of men
emerging from the rhododendrons. "They want rounding up and shooting, don't
they?" he said.

The men, four or five of them, had been sitting under a wooden shelter about
20 yards away from children playing on the park swings. They were a
dishevelled bunch: eyes fierce, voices loud.

A car pulled up and a bag was hurled into the bushes. It was precisely noon.
As if their lives depended on it they ran over. After a few minutes they
reappeared, noticeably more relaxed. One broke away from the group to wander
in and out of the toilets, male and female.

Meanwhile, roundabouts spun, ice creams melted and - ostensibly - we
pretended all was well in the world on a sunlit morning. I seethed quietly.
Unlike the father to my right, I was not driven by a desire for retribution;
I was merely ashamed of our impassiveness.

A park on a sunny Saturday morning was one of the most public places in
town. Did we not sanction and, therefore, normalise the men's behaviour by
our assumed indifference?

The police station was within 500 yards of the park. I do not routinely call
at police stations, so I was unprepared for the fact that it is no longer
common to see a police officer at the front desk. Instead, what I got was an
officious ("sigh"), disinterested ("sigh") middle-aged woman who insisted on
talking to me in that most infuriating tone that mixes overwrought courtesy
with abject condescension. "Sir, I don't know if you are aware, but there is
a drugs problem in every town in Britain."

But, in the park? In broad daylight?

"Sir, just because in your opinion they were acting suspiciously, it does
not mean that we can necessarily stop and search them."

She did not log the incident, never mind promise to do anything about it. I
was left to seethe.

Perhaps I should have left it at that, but I was possessed with a moral
indignation I had not experienced before. The parenting gene finally have
kicked in.

At a loss what else to do, I rang the local newspaper and told them I
planned to send them a letter. I reckoned that if the episode was made
public the drug users would know their rendezvous spot had been noted and
they would be forced to move out of the park.

The voice on the other end of the telephone told me the newspaper would use
my letter only if I were willing to include my name and address. This was an
absurd edict, since it would have made my family a target for possible
reprisals.

Following my objections, within a few minutes the deputy editor rang back
and said they would waive their usual protocol since they knew the letter to
be authentic. During our conversation, he mooted the possibility of a news
story, although he was downbeat about the worth of even addressing the
issue.

"They haven't got enough police, it's as simple as that. There's nothing
they can do." His fatalistic tone was irritating. He talked of police
community liaison panels and community drugs teams. I should write letters
to them all, although it was ultimately futile because it was the
Government's fault for underfunding the police.

He made me feel like a busybody and an idealist. I was admonished for
breaking ranks with the rest of the great British indifferent. If I were to
continue my protest, I should resign myself to extensive letter-writing and
meetings. I could even form a "Friends of the Park" group.

I was, finally, defeated. I had been cast in the role of moral zealot. Yet
all I had wanted was the police to monitor the park at noon the following
Saturday. Now I knew that what I should have done, like everyone else, was
to look the other way.

Despite this lesson, a month later I realised I had learnt nothing. I was
working late in an office, which is opposite a pub in the centre of town.
Just before closing time there was a great deal of shouting and swearing. A
youth was bundled out and knocked about roughly by three or four others. He
fell to the ground and they looked set to give him a good kicking.

I quickly dialled the police and told them what I had seen. "Do you think it
might be a stag party, sir?" asked the officer.