Law enforcement is a profession that demands dedication, integrity, and a commitment to serving communities without judgment or discrimination… Allegedly.
I’m nervous to share this story.
As a former law enforcement officer of five years, I experienced the many challenges that came with being a female in a male-dominated field. This post recounts one of the many problematic experiences I endured which ultimately contributed to both my leaving the job and my eventual diagnosis of CPTSD. By sharing my story I hope to shed light on the harassment and double standards faced by female officers while advocating for transparency and reform in policing overall.
Why in the world did you want to be a cop?
That’s a wonderful question, one I’ve pondered myself countless times. I’m a shy, queer, liberal female who loathes guns and values active listening. Absolutely nothing about the stereotypical cop persona matches my personality, something I’m reminded of by every single person who has ever learned I was one.
I was initially inspired to study justice and psychology after being sexually assaulted as a freshman in college. I entered the police academy with a passion for victim advocacy and an earnest desire to unravel the motivations behind human behavior. I was eager to delve deeper into the reasons people did what they did and hopefully make a positive difference for a few.
Prior to this, I’d been in what I now recognize to be the incredibly privileged position of having had little interaction with the police. I’d grown up white in a middle-class suburb and was incredibly fortunate to not have encountered discrimination based on my race or socio-economic status. It wasn’t until college that I began to develop an interest in politics, and even then I was such an idealist I didn’t fully grasp the pervasiveness of the many issues in the justice system.
At the time, I held the belief that enough good-hearted, sensible officers could bring about essential change. I decided to become one of them, planning to contribute to reform from the inside.
It didn’t take long for the harsh reality to set in. I began to see for myself the toxic behaviors and attitudes plaguing departments and bringing harm to the communities they purportedly served. Rampant intolerance baked into the field since its inception became glaringly apparent. Regular encounters with harassment, such as the example below, shattered my naivety and left me disillusioned.
Locker room talk
Fresh out of field training and new to patrolling on my own, I optimistically embraced what I saw as an opportunity to meaningfully serve my community. The excitement was soon tainted, however, by an incident that left me baffled and humiliated.
At the start of each shift, officers were supposed to call out over the radio that they were coming on duty, their beat assignment, the car they’d be driving, and their current status (either busy or available for assignments). As this was critical for both safety and accountability, it was considered poor etiquette to interrupt the transmission unless it was an emergency.
One evening, I was mingling among my crew while waiting for roll call to begin. Once I received my vehicle assignment, I took a calming breath as I always did before speaking over the radio. When I announced my call sign, Dispatch repeated it back, confirming they were ready for my information. But as I keyed up to respond, a deep, jeering male voice came over the radio, cutting me off and plainly instructing, “Suck my cock”.
The vulgar order reverberated over every radio in the room. Silence fell instantly, everyone turning to gape in shocked silence as I turned beet red with mortification. I turned to my supervisors, who were also staring, and stammered in horror that it wasn’t me who’d said that. Despite being surrounded by a room full of witnesses who are sworn to protect others, not a soul spoke up in my defense.
My lieutenant silently stood and exited the room. The sergeant directed me to stay after roll call, then turned her attention to settling the rest of the squad and began disseminating notes left by the previous shift.
Big reputation: Rumors and double standards
As I awaited my fate, feeling like I was somehow in trouble, I reflected on the toxic culture prevalent in some law enforcement departments.
Female officers often face blatant discrimination in their work, a troubling fact considering evidence that highlights their valuable contributions to policing outcomes. Studies have shown female officers to have statistically lower rates of use of force and citizen complaints, indicating their ability to approach situations with effective communication and de-escalation techniques.
Rather than being recognized and celebrated for these achievements, however, female officers are often subjected to harassment, judgment, and double standards from their male counterparts. This mistreatment not only undermines the potential contributions of female officers but also perpetuates a hostile work environment that hinders the overall effectiveness of the profession.
One example of this abuse is the widespread practice of labeling female officers as either “bitches” or “sluts”. Whichever title a woman takes on sticks permanently and will precede them among any first responders in their area, even across departments. I didn’t come to this conclusion on my own, nor do I exaggerate its prevalence. I was told these exact words many, many times by other officers, often in the twisted form of career advice.
Apparently, my flaw was being a young female deemed “too friendly”, which meant I must fall into the slut category. This reputation made me vulnerable prey in the eyes of many male officers. As much as they disparaged sluts, they equally scrambled for the glory of conquering one.
These enduring attitudes and double standards perpetuate a hostile environment where any mistake or perceived weakness of one woman is unjustly attributed to her entire gender and reflects negatively on other female officers.
Good old boys club
The law enforcement rumor mill is wild, and by the end of the roll call, first responders across local departments had heard the news of my harassment. Once my crew left to answer calls or patrol their beats, I was brought into an office with my lieutenant and sergeant, both of whom looked grim.
My sergeant at the time was an older female who’d clearly never liked me. I was told not to take it personally; it seemed she, too, subscribed to the idea that any perceived misstep by a female reflected poorly on other women. As unjust as the philosophy was, I can’t say she wasn’t correct.
When the lieutenant had left the room after the incident, he’d contacted dispatch who was able to review the radio recordings and learn whose radio the verbal assault had come from.
Let’s get that clear right fucking now. That’s what that was. It was clearly both intentional and malicious.
But unfortunately, the radio belonged to a male officer from a nearby precinct that shares radio access. His Good Old Boy connections, along with 15 years on the force, apparently outweighed the humiliation he’d subjected me to in front of the entire department. It also outweighed the department’s radio etiquette policy prohibiting disrespectful and vulgar language.
When the lieutenant reached out to Officer Suck My Cock for a statement, his official excuse was that he was telling a story to another officer while getting dressed for duty. He claimed he’d accidentally hit the button on his microphone (even though he’d obviously spoken directly into it) at an inopportune moment.
In other words: he thought he’d try to show off to other officers by publicly humiliating a young female, and his old, technologically-illiterate ass didn’t realize Dispatch maintained records of whose radio was keying up at any given time.
Burn the snitch
The way my supervisors presented this information was a clear indication that it would be accepted as truth, obvious bullshit though it was. The sergeant jumped in to tell me I had the option to report my tormentor to Human Resources, but added what I’m sure was genuine advice in her mind: reporting would absolutely get around to other officers and harm my reputation.
Remember earlier when I said every action on the part of female officers reflects on other females? I was suddenly forced into the position, as a 21-year-old woman fresh off of training where I’d been told time and again not to make waves or draw attention to myself, to make a decision that would affect every woman in law enforcement. A decision I knew would cause male officers to unify against me.
It didn’t help that the incident was so public in nature. We shared a radio channel with several other precincts and departments in the area, so the catcall reverberated not only among my immediate coworkers but across the entire network of supposed colleagues and allies. This exposure, combined with the obvious lack of support, stripped away any semblance of privacy and left me even more vulnerable to judgment and speculation. On top of that, the nature of the incident meant everyone was dying to know my decision, further exposing me to scrutiny.
Was I going to report this disgusting harassment by a senior officer who was well-liked by his coworkers? I’d already heard horror stories about departments, this one included, failing to properly address blatant harassment. Reporting would most likely result in a slap on the wrist for the assailant while ensuring my reputation as an untrustworthy snitch.
This sinister label, worse than even bitch or slut, would endanger me both professionally and physically. I’d heard the jokes (threats) from other officers claiming they’d take their time assisting on dangerous calls where the other responding officer had done something to spurn the department or another cop. I worried this retaliatory treatment may extend to other women as well.
I faced a choice that was no choice at all. There was no possible way to both report the officer and continue working at that department (or likely any department) safely.
After
I became a police officer in the hopes of making positive changes in the field. I dreamed of serving as a source of comfort to victims of sexual abuse, perhaps in an effort to understand why I could never bring myself to report my abusers. I understand now that it’s because the justice system doesn’t guarantee the safety of victims and, more often than not, fails them completely.
This incident was one of many abusive and discriminatory behaviors I witnessed during my time in law enforcement. Ultimately, I left the field after five years of obstacles, prejudicial treatment, and abuse in many forms. I was disheartened and scarred, feeling complicit both for having been part of the system and for having given up on it.
But really, I haven’t given up. I still believe enough good can root out the putrid rot of bigotry and hate currently plaguing our justice system. I will continue calling for change by sharing my experiences and shedding light on the injustices I’ve witnessed.
Harassment, double standards, and toxic aggression harm not just individual officers, but the integrity of the profession as a whole. It’s essential to address these problems and rebuild a system that empowers good officers to serve and protect without fear of discrimination or retaliation.
We can create a brighter future for law enforcement — one that truly values the contributions of all its members and fosters an atmosphere of respect, dignity, and support.